Quotation — "If ...."

Recently, I listened to a TED Talk about the meaning, or relevance, of poetry in our lives, and while reading some of the Internet commentary that followed, I noticed that someone had included the poem "If ...." by Rudyard Kipling.

Having a personal passing relationship with Rudyard Kipling (Born during World War II, I lived in one of Kipling's houses in Sussex which he permitted to be used by mothers for the safety of their new-born children from bomb-ravaged London), and the belief that he is the equal of all others that I have quoted and included in my posts, I must include this poem, written to his son, here.

Rudyard Kipling (1865  - 1936)

An English short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in Bombay, and was taken by his family to England when he was five years old.  Kipling is best known for his works of fiction, including The Jungle Book.  Henry James once said: "Kipling strikes me personally as the most complete man of genius (as distinct from fine intelligence) that I have ever known."  In 1907, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature.

If .... 

If you can keep your head when all about you       

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,    

But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you 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 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 nerve and sinew    

To serve your turn long after they are gone,   

And so hold on when there is nothing in you    

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,       

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the 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 unforgiving minute    

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,   

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,       

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

P.S.  Read to all young sons ... and daughters.