A Poem to Start Your Week

August 23, 2021

Good morning! These Musings are taking a late summer hiatus in order to get bigger, better, stronger, healthier, and happier. But, rather than demanding faithful readers to experience cold turkey abstinence, a poem is provided here.

This poem is among my favourites of all time and I frequently return to it for inspiration, reflection, understanding, and much more. Even if you don’t interact with poems, take a few moments right now to interact with this one. I hope you will enjoy it. Please forgive the outdated male language.

These Musings will return in their full format on or about September 20, 2021 — the last formal day of astronomical summer.

A Poem to Start Your Week

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 wornout 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! 

Rudyard Kipling – 1865-1936