And robs us of courage we need through the
day:
It rings in our ears like a timely-sent warning
And laughs when we falter and fall by the
way.

_Can't_ is the father of feeble endeavor,
The parent of terror and half-hearted work;
It weakens the efforts of artisans clever,
And makes of the toiler an indolent shirk.
It poisons the soul of the man with a vision,
It stifles in infancy many a plan;
It greets honest toiling with open derision
And mocks at the hopes and the dreams of a
man.

_Can't_ is a word none should speak without
blushing;
To utter it should be a symbol of shame;
Ambition and courage it daily is crushing;
It blights a man's purpose and shortens his
aim.
Despise it with all of your hatred of error;
Refuse it the lodgment it seeks in your brain;
Arm against it as a creature of terror,
And all that you dream of you some day shall
gain.

_Can't_ is the word that is foe to ambition,
An enemy ambushed to shatter your will;