If I can keep my head when all about me
Are losing theirs and blaming it on me,
If I can trust myself when all men doubt me,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If I can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If I can dream—and not make dreams my master;
If I can think—and not make thoughts my aim;
If I can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If I can bear to hear the truth I’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things I gave my life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If I can make one heap of all my winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at my beginnings
And never breathe a word about my loss;
If I can force my heart and nerve and sinew
To serve my turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in me
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If I can talk with crowds and keep my virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt me,
If all men count with me, but none too much;
If I can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Mine is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—I’ll be a Man, my son!