Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my conquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the horror of the shade And yet the menance of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishment the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.
The test of a man is the fight that he makes, The grit that he daily shows, The way he stands upon his feet, And takes life's numerous bumps and blows. A coward can smile when there's naught to fear. And nothing his progress bars, But it takes a man to stand closer and cheer, While the other fellow stars. It isn't the victory after all But the fight that a Brother makes A man when driven against the wall, still stands erect and takes the blows of fate with his head held high, bleeding, and bruised and pale, Is the man who will win and fate defied, For he isn't afraid to fail.
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