Make one Help

if you could 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

out of the night that covers me

black is the pit from pole the pole

i thank whatever gods may be

for my unconquerable soul

in the fell clutch of circumstance

i have not winced nor cried aloud

under the bludgeonings of chance

my head is bloody but unbowed

beyond this place of wrath and tears

looms but the horror of the shade

and yet the menace of the years

finds and shall find me

unafraid

it matters not how straight the gate

how charged with punishments the scroll