There's a game much in fashion—I think it's called Euchre
(Though I never have played for pleasure or lucre),
In which, when the cards are in certain conditions,
The players appear to have changed their positions,
And one of them cries in a confident tone,
"I think I may venture to 'go it alone!'"
While watching the game, 'tis a whim of the bard's
A moral to draw from that skirmish of cards,
And to fancy he finds in the trivial strife
Some excellent hints for the battle of Life;
Where—whether the prize be a ribbon or throne—
The winner is he who can "go it alone!"
When great Galileo proclaimed that the world
In a regular orbit was ceaselessly whirled,
And got—not a convert—for all of his pains,
But only derision and prison and chains,
"It moves, for all that!" was his answering tone,
For he knew, like the earth, he could "go it alone!"
When Kepler, with intellect piercing afar,
Discovered the laws of each planet and star,
And doctors, who ought to have lauded his name,
Derided his learning and blackened his fame,
"I can wait," he replied, "till the truth you shall own;"
For he felt in his heart he could "go it alone!"
Alas! for the player who idly depends,
In the struggle of life, upon kindred or friends;
Whatever the value of blessings like these,
They can never atone for inglorious ease,
Nor comfort the coward who finds, with a groan,
That his clutches have left him to "go it alone!"
There's something, no doubt, in the hand you may hold:
Wealth, family, culture, wit, beauty and gold,
The fortunate owner may fairly regard
As, each in its way, a most excellent card;
Yet the game may be lost, with all these for your own,
Unless you've the courage to "go it alone!"
In battle or business, whatever the game,
In law or love, it is ever the same;
In the struggle for power, or the scramble for pelf,
Let this be your motto, "Rely on Yourself!"
For, whether the prize be a ribbon or throne,
The victor is he who can "go it alone!"