"If-" | Rudyard Kipling's Gem of Creative Self Discovery

Something to think about - for all ages.

I know I must be hiding under a rock.  I have read over 180 books this year alone and this is the first time I’ve run across this gem.  This wonderful little poem by Rudyard Kipling, titled “If-“, is a masterpiece.  I find myself reading it often, now that I’ve found it.

It’s encouraging, it’s telling, it’s full of wisdom, and flows like only a talented poet could make it flow.  This is the kind of pearl I hope my children will memorize and keep close to help keep them “between the white lines.”  In other words, on the road.

If you’ve heard of it, awesome – time to read it again and be energized.  If you haven’t, you’re in for a treat.  I decided to spruce up the presentation some.  Hope it works.  Enjoy.

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