“What is success?” asked Ralph Waldo Emerson. “Success,” he said “was to know even one life has breathed easier because you lived. This is to have succeeded.”
In poetic language we hear the same definition:
An old man walking a lonesome road,
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm vast and wide and steep,
With waters running cold and deep.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim,
The rolling stream had no fears for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow traveler near,
“you are wasting your strength with building here.
Your journey will end with the passing day,
You never again will pass this way.
You’ve crossed the chasm, deep and wide,
Why build you this bridge at eventide?
The builder lifted his old gray head,
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