It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out; it's the grain of sand in your shoe.

Ah! the clock is always slow; it is later than you think.

No man can be a failure if he thinks he's a success; If he thinks he is a winner, then he is.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead, In the glare of the truth at last.

Some praise the Lord for Light, The living spark; I thank God for the Night The healing dark.

Carry on! Carry on! Fight the good fight and true; Believe in you mission, greet life with a cheer.

I have no doubts that the Devil grins, As seas of ink I spatter. Ye gods, forgive my “literary” sins – The other kind don’t matter.