It Couldn't Be Done

     One of the finds at the book sale this year was a book of poems, well, actually two books put together, of poems by Edgar Guest, my favorite poet of all time. In it is found the full version of "It Couldn't Be Done", from "The Path to Home When Day is Done", published in 1919.

"Somebody once said that it couldn't be done,
But he with a chuckle replied
That "maybe it couldn't," but he would be one
Who wouldn't say so till he'd tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, and he did it.

"Somebody scoffed, "Oh, you'll never do that;
At least no one has ever done it";
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he'd begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn't be 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 you.
But just buckle right in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start in to sing as you tackled the thing
That "cannot be done," and you'll do it."