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