PLUCK
Be firm. One constant element in luck
Is genuine, solid, old Teutonic pluck.
See yon tall shaft? It felt the earthquake's thrill,
Clung to its base, and greets the sunlight still.
Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold will slip,
But only crow-bars loose the bulldog's grip;
Small as he looks, the jaw that never yields
Drags down the bellowing monarch of the fields.
Yet, in opinions look not always back;