It Couldn't Be Done<br/><br/>Somebody said that it couldn't be done,<br/>But he with a chuckle replied<br/>That maybe it couldn't, but he would be one<br/>Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried.<br/>So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin<br/>On his face. If he worried he hid it.<br/>He started to sing as he tackled the thing<br/>That couldn't be done, and he did it. <br/><br/>Somebody scoffed: Oh, you'll never do that; <br/>At least no one ever has done it; <br/>But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,<br/>And the first thing we knew he'd begun it.<br/>With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,<br/>Without any doubting or quiddit,<br/>He started to sing as he tackled the thing<br/>That couldn't be done, and he did it. <br/><br/>There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,<br/>There are thousands to prophesy failure; <br/>There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,<br/>The dangers that wait to assail you.<br/>But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,<br/>Just take off your coat and go to it; <br/>Just start to sing as you tackle the thing<br/>That cannot be done, and you'll do it.
This I would like to be- braver and bolder, Just a bit wiser because I am older, Just a bit kinder to those I may meet, Just a bit manlier taking defeat; This for the New Year my wish and my plea- Lord, make a regular man out of me. This I would like to be- just a bit finer, More of a smiler and less of a whiner, Just a bit quicker to stretch out my hand Helping another who's struggling to stand, This is my prayer for the New Year to be, Lord, make a regular man out of me. This I would like to be- just a bit fairer, Just a bit better, and just a bit squarer, Not quite so ready to censure and blame, Quicker to help every man in the game, Not quite so eager men's failings to see, Lord, make a regular man out of me. This I would like to be- just a bit truer, Less of the wisher and more of the doer, Broader and bigger, more willing to give, Living and helping my neighbor to live! This for the New Year my prayer and my plea- Lord, make a regular man out of me.
The little house is not too smallTo shelter friends who come to call. Though low the roof and small its spaceIt holds the Lord's abounding grace, And every simple room may beEndowed with happy memory. The little house, severly plain,A wealth of beauty may contain. Within it those who dwell may findHigh faith which makes for peace of mind, And that sweet understanding whichCan make the poorest cottage rich. The little house can hold all thingsFrom which the soul's contentment springs.'Tis not too small for love to grow, For all the joys that mortals know, For mirth and song and that delightWhich make the humblest dwelling bright.