No creature 's made so mean, But that, some way, it boasts, could we investigate, Its supreme worth; fulfils, by ordinance of fate, Its momentary task; gets glory all its own; Tastes triumph in the world, pre-eminent, alone. Where is the single grain of sand, 'mid millions heaped Confusedly on the beach, but, did we know, has leaped Or will leap, would we wait, i' the century, some once. To the very throne of things?