Photo by: crowt59 |
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! |