twisted by knaves to make a

trap for fools,

or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

and stoop and build 'em 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 term 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 will be Man, my son!