With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
If you can keep your head when all about you
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
And never breathe a word about your loss;
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
And treat those two impostors just the same;
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,