Classic Poem

Opportunity thou Mother of events!
Who bides his time eventual wins his game,
Sternly refraining from sundry — all attempts,
Till Opportunity doth back the same.
Opportunity's the beck'ning on of Fate,
The mystic harbinger of sure success,
When that clock strikes let no one dare be late,
Or this world's chances risk beyond redress.
Opportunity's the Hand of the Unseen,
Of Nature working with the world of men,
Her fair Excalibur of metal keen
Presented once at least to each one's ken.
Observe the times with patience back'd by nerve,
When the time's ripe — dart forward! — sans a swerve.