It Can’t Be Done
The people who miss all the fun
Are the ones who say “It can’t be done.”
In solemn pride they stand aloof
And greet each venture with reproof.
Had they the power they’d efface
The history of the human race;
We’d have no radio or motor cars,
No streets lit by electric stars;
No telegraph nor telephone,
We’d linger in the age of stone.
The world would sleep if things were run
By people who say, “It can’t be done.”