“Somebody said that it couldn't be doneBut he with a chuckle repliedThat "maybe it couldn't," but he would be oneWho wouldn't say so till he tried.So he buckled right in with the trace of a grinOn his face. If he worried he hid it.He started to sing as he tackled the thingThat couldn't be done, and he did it.”

“Somebody said it couldn't be done.But he with a chuckle replied,That maybe it couldn't, but he would be oneWho wouldn't say so 'till he'd tried.So he buckled right in with a trace of a grinOn his face. If he worried, he hid it.He started to sing as he tackled the thingThat couldn't be done. And he did.Somebody scoffed, "Oh, you'll never do thatAt least no one ever has done it."But he took off his coat, and he took off his hat,And the first thing we know, he'd begun it.With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,Without any doubting or "quit-it".He started to sing as he tackled the thingThat couldn't done. And he did it.There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done.There are thousands to prophesy failure.There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,The dangers that wait to assail youBut just buckle in, with a bit of a grin;Just take off your coat and go to it.Just start in to sing as yout tackle the thingThat cannot be done--and you'll do it!”

“He was just a small church parson when the war broke out, and heLooked and dressed and acted like all parsons that we see.He wore the cleric's broadcloth and he hooked his vest behind.But he had a man's religion and he had a stong man's mind.And he heard the call to duty, and he quit his church and went.And he bravely tramped right with 'em every- where the boys were sent.He put aside his broadcloth and he put the khaki on;Said he'd come to be a soldier and was going to live like one.Then he'd refereed the prize fights that the boys pulled off at night,And if no one else was handy he'd put on the gloves and fight.He wasn't there a fortnight ere he saw the sol- diers' needs,And he said: "I'm done with preaching; this is now the time for deeds."He learned the sound of shrapnel, he could tell the size of shellFrom the shriek it make above him, and he knew just where it fell.In the front line trench he laboured, and he knew the feel of mud,And he didn't run from danger and he wasn't scared of blood.He wrote letters for the wounded, and he cheered them with his jokes,And he never made a visit without passing round the smokes.Then one day a bullet got him, as he knelt be- side a ladWho was "going west" right speedy, and they both seemed mighty glad,'Cause he held the boy's hand tighter, and he smiled and whispered low,"Now you needn't fear the journey; over there with you I'll go."And they both passed out together, arm in arm I think they went.He had kept his vow to follow everywhere the boys were sent.”

“There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done, there are thousands to prophesy failure, there are thousands to point out to you one by one, the dangers that wait to assail you, But just buckle in, with a bit of a grin, just take off your coat and go to it; just start to sing as you tackle the thing, that cannot be done and you'll do it!!”

“At ChristmasA man is at his finest towards the finish of the year;He is almost what he should be when the Christmas season's here;Then he's thinking more of others than he's thought the months before,And the laughter of his children is a joy worth toiling for.He is less a selfish creature than at any other time;When the Christmas spirit rules him he comes close to the sublime.”

“Father! My father knows the proper way The nation should be run;He tells us children every dayJust what should now be done.He knows the way to fix the trusts,He has a simple plan;But if the furnace needs repairs,We have to hire a man.My father, in a day or twoCould land big thieves in jail;There's nothing that he cannot do,He knows no word like "fail.""Our confidence" he would restore,Of that there is no doubt;But if there is a chair to mend,We have to send it out.All public questions that arise,He settles on the spot;He waits not till the tumult dies,But grabs it while it's hot.In matters of finance he canTell Congress what to do;But, O, he finds it hard to meetHis bills as they fall due.It almost makes him sick to readThe things law-makers say;Why, father's just the man they need,He never goes astray.All wars he'd very quickly end,As fast as I can write it;But when a neighbor starts a fuss,'Tis mother has to fight it.In conversation father canDo many wondrous things;He's built upon a wiser planThan presidents or kings.He knows the ins and outs of eachAnd every deep transaction;We look to him for theories,But look to ma for action”

“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.”