If you can keep your wits about you while all others are losing theirs, and blaming you. The world will be yours and everything in it, what's more, you'll be a man, my son.
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 walk with the crowd 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!
Take up the White Man's burden -- send forth the best ye breed -- go, bind your sons to exile to serve your captives need.
If you can meet success and failure and treat them both as impostors, then you are a balanced man, my son.
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