It takes courage and lots of courage to look upon defeat as a blessing in disguise; but any position in life that is worth having requires a lot of sand.
This poem, by an uknown author says exactly what I am thinking.
I observed a locomotive in the railroad yards one day,
It was waiting in the roundhouse where the locomotives stay;
It was panting for the journey, it was coaled and fully manned,
And it had a box the fireman was filling full of sand.
It appears that locomotives cannot always get a grip
On their slender iron pavement, 'cause the wheels are apt to slip;
And when they reach a slippery spot, their tactics they command,
And to get a grip upon the rail, they sprinkle it with sand.
It's about the way with travel along life's slippery track -
If your load is rather heavy, you're always slipping back;
So, if a common locomotive you completely understan,
You'll provide yourself in starting with a good supply of sand.
If your track is steep and hilly and you have a heavy grade,
If those who've gone before you have the rails quite slippery made,
If you ever reach the summit of the upper tableland,
You'll find you'll have to do it with a liberal use of sand.
If you strike some frigid wheather and discover to your cost
that you're liable to slip upon a heavy coat of frost,
Then some prompt decided action will be called into demand,
And you'll slip 'way to the bottom if you haven't any sand.
You can get to any station that is on life's schedule seen,
If there's fire beneath the boiler of ambition's strong machine,
And you'll reach a place called Flushtown at a rate of speed that's grand,
If for all the slippery places you've a good supply of sand.
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