Fearing to be jostled and starved out, by the too prolific increase of his kind;
And asketh, in unbelieving dread, for how few years to come
Will the black cellars of the world yield unto him fuel for his winter.
Might not the wide waste sea be pent within narrower bounds?
Might not the arm of diligence make the tangled wilderness a garden?
And for aught thou canst tell, there may be a thousand methods
Of comforting thy limbs in warmth, though thou kindle not a spark.
Fear not, son of man, for thyself nor thy seed:—with a multitude is plenty;
God's blessing giveth increase, and with it larger than enough.
Search out the wisdom of nature, there is depth in all her doings;