They'll grow, like plants extending, like grass multiplying, going out, edging westward, all the time.

Ah, thousands of them, millions yet to come, plants, little human plants, with the right to live born with them.

I don't so much mind about their creed.

I don't so much mind about race--their color, even.

But to see them grow--why, I suppose God up in His Heaven looks down and smiles when He sees that.