Tiniest insects build up loftiest mountains. Broad bands of solid rock, which undergird the earth, have been welded by the patient, constant toil of invisible creatures, working on though the ages, unhasting, unresting, fulfilling their Maker's will on the shores of primeval oceans, watched only by the patient stars, these silent workmen have been building for us the structures of the world. And thus the obscure work of unknown nameless ages appears at last in the sunlight, the adorned and noble theatre of that life of man, which, of all that is done in this universe, is fullest before God on interest and hope. It is thus, too, in life. The quite moments build the years. The labors of the obscure and unremembered hours edify that palace of the soul, in which it is to abide, and fabricate the organ whereby it is to work and express itself through eternity. - J. B. Brown