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