Did you meet that trouble that came your way

With a resolute heart and cheerful?

Or hide your face from the light of day

With a craven soul and fearful;

For a trouble’s a ton, or a trouble’s an ounce,

It isn’t the fact that you’re hurt that counts,

But only, how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what’s that?

Get up with a smiling face,

It’s nothing against you to fall down flat,

But to lie there—that’s the disgrace;

For, the harder you’re hit, the higher you bounce,

Be proud of your blackened eye;

It isn’t the fact that you’re licked that counts,

But how did you fight, and why?

And when you are done to the death, what then?

If you have done the best you could.

If you’ve taken your place in the world of men,

Why, the critic will call you good.

Death comes with a crawl or comes with a pounce,

And whether it be slow or spry,

It isn’t the fact that you’re dead that counts,

But only, how did you die.

-Anonymous-