Each New Year's Eve I used to brood br On my misdoings of the past, br And vowed: "This year I'll be so good - br Well, haply better than the last." br My record of reforms I read br To Mum who listened sweetly to it: br "Why plan all this, my son?" she said; br "Just do it." br br Of her wise words I've often thought - br Aye, sometimes with a pang of pain, br When resolutions come to naught, br And high resolves are sadly vain; br The human heart from failure bleeds; br Hopes may be wrecked so that we rue them . . . br Don't let us dream of lovely deeds - br Just do them. br br And so, my son, uphold your pride. br Believe serenely in your soul. br Just take things in a steady stride, br Until behold! you've gained your goal. br But if, perchance, you frame a plan br Of conduct, let it be a free one: br Don't try to make yourself a man - br Just be one.