"The man who misses all the fun
Is he who says, "It can't be done"
In solemn pride he stands aloof
And greets each venture with reproof
Had he the power he'd efface
The history of the human race:
We'd have no radio or motor cars,
No streets lit by electric stars
No telegraph nor telephone
We'd linger in the age stone
The world would sleep if things were run
By men who say, "It can't be done."
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