  Success knows no diminution, For failure hovers so near, That with trace of slight dilution, Success must cease to appear. We look in vain for a substitute To take the place of success; A proxy saps its vital cords, It dies of paralysis. Nothing can take the place of success, Its measure must be complete, If slightest imperfection is found It suffers a deadly defeat. The marge that divides sturdy success From failure grim and gaunt, Is invisible space, but separates Abundance from woe and want. Like pack of wolves on army's trail, Fell failure lives on distress, Devouring with greed th' foul refuse That falls from th' hands of success. Success and failure closely abide— Success has a palace fine, While failure dwells in a dreary hut, Like a herding place for swine. Success may not always achieve The object it has in view, But lives while its motives and acts Are earnest, noble, and true. True failure can only be found In a being devoid of heart, Whose efforts and deeds are all dead, Or act but a sluggard's part. Success has a heart that can sing, A hand and a spirit to try, A word that is fraught with good cheer, A soul that illumines the eye. Failure is cheerless, sullen, and glum, His hand hanging idly by, His voice is an echo of woe, His face distorted, awry. |
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