Dit gedicht boeit me sinds jaar en dag.  Het is geschreven door R. Kipling.

If . . .

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 thougts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear the truth 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 af 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 hald on when there is nothing in you
Exept 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 Eart and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son !

R. Kipling.