Ganges, and the rolling Mississippi sprung of brooks among the mountains;
The Yew-tree of a thousand years was once a little seed,
And Nero's marble Rome, a shepherd's mud-built hovel:
A speck is on the tropic sky, and it groweth to the terrible tornado;
An apple, all too fair to see, destroyed a world of souls:
A tender babe is born,—it is Attila, scourge of the nations!
A seeming malefactor dieth,—it is Jesus, the Saviour of men!
And hive not in thy thoughts the vain and wordy notion
That nothing which was born in Time can tire out the footsteps of Infinity:
Reckon up a sum in numbers; where shall progression stop?