The mountain is vast in size and weight. The weary feet clamber
over it painfully. It offers homes along its breast to the
enterprise which seeks them. Its quarries build palaces, and its
woods timber navies. It lifts its crown of snow and ice against
the sky, and stands amid the scene a very monarch of earth,
primeval and abiding. But the soul can compass that mountain
in its thought, without weariness or pain; can take it up and
weigh it, in the balances of exact mathematical computation;
and spurning it then, as a mere footstool for its activity, can
spring from it to that boundless expanse amid which the mountain
is less than is the least of the dust grains of the balance to
its solid bulk.--RICHARD S. STORRS.
(3015)
=Soul-growth=--See GROWTH, UNCONSCIOUS.