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"My men grow mutinous day by day;
They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,
They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:
Then pale and worn, he kept his deck,
Say, too, has Heaven's high favor given again
Answer, thou refuge of the freeman's need,
When thou wert wafted to that distant shore,
Thus to men cast in that heroic mould
But He who rules both calm and stormy days,
The hills have been high for man's mounting,
Have ye vices that ask a destroyer?
Have ye Poverty's pinching to cope with?
Should ye see, afar off, that worth winning,
Courage isn't the last resort
Courage isn't a dazzling light
Courage was never designed for show;
Can't is the father of feeble endeavor,
Can't is a word none should speak without blushing;
Can't is the word that is foe to ambition,
You may stand to trouble and keep your grin,
Don't boast of your grit till you've tried it out,
How much grit do you think you've got?
It's bully sport and it's open fight;
Where the going's smooth and pleasant
How a man ever should hope to get thither,
What if wise men had, as far back as Ptolemy,
Fate can slam him and bang him around,
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