A rose, though admired for its beauty fair,
Is never chosen to adorn a maiden's hair,
Till it sheds its prickly thorns bare
And stands with only beauty to share.
So it is with the virtues and vices of man.
For though conquer the world he can,
He can never be fortune's kin,
Till he conquers himself from within.
Stand up and press on when you must,
Unwaveringly, through wind, water and dust.
When the past seems impossible to mend,
There will be a way out beyond the bend.
Everything happens for good
And things will turn out as they should.
Remember, it is not always hard to end,
But it is to start again and ascend.