Walt Whitman: Song of the Broad-Axe, Part 7

Part 7

A sterile landscape covers the ore, there is as good as the best for     all the forbidding appearance, There is the mine, there are the miners, The forge-furnace is there, the melt is accomplish'd, the hammersmen     are at hand with their tongs and hammers, What always served and always serves is at hand.
Than this nothing has better served, it has served all, Served the fluent-tongued and subtle-sensed Greek, and long ere the Greek, Served in building the buildings that last longer than any, Served the Hebrew, the Persian, the most ancient Hindustanee, Served the mound-raiser on the Mississippi, served those whose     relics remain in Central America, Served Albic temples in woods or on plains, with unhewn pillars and     the druids, Served the artificial clefts, vast, high, silent, on the     snow-cover'd hills of Scandinavia, Served those who time out of mind made on the granite walls rough     sketches of the sun, moon, stars, ships, ocean waves, Served the paths of the irruptions of the Goths, served the pastoral     tribes and nomads, Served the long distant Kelt, served the hardy pirates of the Baltic, Served before any of those the venerable and harmless men of Ethiopia, Served the making of helms for the galleys of pleasure and the     making of those for war, Served all great works on land and all great works on the sea, For the mediaeval ages and before the mediaeval ages, Served not the living only then as now, but served the dead.