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
dont deal with lies
or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
and yet dont look too good not talk too wise
if you can dream - and not make your 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 live to, broken
and stop and build ‘em up with worn out tools
If you can 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 crods and keep your virtue
or walk with Kings nor lose the common touch
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you
if all man count with you, but none too much
if you can fill the unforgiving minute
with sixty seconds worth of distance run
yours in the earth and everything that’s in it
and… which is more…
you’ll be a man… my son!