Adversity is, to me at least, a tonic and a bracer.
Steady of heart and stout of hand.
To the timid and hesitating everything is impossible because it seems so.
Spangling the wave with lights as vain As pleasures in the vale of pain, That dazzle as they fade.
Heaven know its time; the bullet has its billet
Wounds sustained for the sake of conscience carry their own balsam with the blow.