If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you.
If you can dream-and not make dreams your master.
If you can think and not make thoughts your aim.
If you can meet with triumph and disaster and treat those two impostors just the same.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools. Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, and stoop and build' em up 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 sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone, and hold on when there is nothing left except the will that says..."Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue. Or walk with kings and not loose your 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 last minute with sixty seconds more worth of distance running.
Yours is the Earth and everything thats in it,
And- which is more- you'll be a Man, my son.

RUDYARD KIPLING (1865-1936)