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