Somebody 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 ever has 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 in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing
That "cannot be done," and you'll do it.
Service
You never hear the robins brag about the sweetness of their song,
Nor do they stop their music gay whene'er a poor man comes along.
God taught them how to sing an' when they'd learned the art He sent them here
To use their talents day by day the dreary lives o' men to cheer.
An' rich or poor an' sad or gay, the ugly an' the fair to see,
Can stop most any time in June an' hear the robins' melody.
I stand an' watch them in the sun, usin' their gifts from day to day,
Swellin' their little throats with song, regardless of man's praise or pay;
Jes' bein' robins, nothing else, nor claiming greatness for their deeds,
But jes' content to gratify one of the big world's many needs,
Singin' a lesson to us all to be ourselves and scatter cheer
By usin' every day the gifts God gave us when He sent us here.
Why should we keep our talents hid, or think we favor men because
We use the gifts that God has given? The robins never ask applause,
Nor count themselves remarkable, nor strut in a superior way,
Because their music sweeter is than that God gave unto the jay.
Only a man conceited grows as he makes use of talents fine,
Forgetting that he merely does the working of the Will Divine.
Lord, as the robins, let me serve! Teach me to do the best I can
To make this world a better place, an' happier for my fellow man.
If gift o' mine can cheer his soul an' hearten him along his way
Let me not keep that talent hid; I would make use of it to-day.
An' since the robins ask no praise, or pay for all their songs o' cheer,
Let me in humbleness rejoice to do my bit o' service here.