When you get what you want in your struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a day
Just go to the mirror and look at yourself
And see what that man has to say.
For it isn’t your Father or Mother or wife
Whose judgment upon you must pass.
The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the one staring back from the glass.
Some people may call you a straight shooting chum
And call you a wonderful guy,
but the man in the glass says you’re only a bum
If you can’t look him straight in the eye.
He’s the fellow to please, never mind all the rest
For he’s with you clear to the end,
And you have passed your most dangerous test
If the man in the glass is your friend.
You may face the whole world down the pathway of life
And get pats on the back when you pass,
But your final reward will be heartache and strife
If you’ve cheated the man in the glass.

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 these 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 worn-out 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!

Because it rains when we wish it wouldn’t,
Because men do what they often shouldn’t,
Because crops fail, and plans go wrong
Some of us grumble all day long.
But somehow, in spite of the care and doubt,
It seems at last that things work out.
Because we lose where we hoped to gain,
Because we suffer a little pain,
Because we must work when we’d like to play
Some of us whimper along life’s way.
But somehow, as day always follows the night,
Most of our troubles work out all right.
Because we cannot forever smile,
Because we must trudge in the dust awhile,
Because we think that the way is long
Some of us whimper that life’s all wrong.
But somehow we live and our sky grows bright,
And everything seems to work out all right.
So bend to your trouble and meet your care,
For the clouds must break, and the sky grow fair.
Let the rain come down, as it must and will,
But keep on working and hoping still.
For in spite of the grumblers who stand about,
Somehow, it seems, all things work out.

God grant that I might have
The courage to change the things I can,
The serenity to accept the things I cannot,
And the wisdom to know the difference

Follow your dream.
Take one step at a time and don’t settle for less,
Just continue to climb.
Follow your dream.
If you stumble, don’t stop and lose sight of your goal
Press to the top.
For only on top can we see the whole view,
Can we see what we’ve done and what we can do;
Can we then have the vision to seek something new,
Press on.
Follow your dream.

The test of a man is the fight he makes,
The grit that he daily shows;
The way he stands on his feet and takes
Fate’s numerous bumps and blows.
A coward can smile when there’s naught to fear,
When nothing his progress bars;
But it takes a man to stand up and cheer
While some other fellow stars.
It isn’t the victory, after all,
But the fight that a brother makes;
The man who, driven against the wall,
Still stands up erect and takes
The blows of fate with his head held high;
Bleeding, and bruised, and pale,
Is the man who’ll win in the by and by,
For he isn’t afraid to fail.
It’s the bumps you get, and the jolts you get,
And the shocks that your courage stands,
The hours of sorrow and vain regret,
The prize that escapes your hands,
That test your mettle and prove your worth;
It isn’t the blows you deal,
But the blows you take on the good old earth,
That show if your stuff is real.

Let others lead small lives,
But not you.
Let others argue over small things,
But not you.
Let others cry over small hurts,
But not you.
Let others leave their future
In someone else’s hands,
But not you.

Life, sometimes so wearying
Is worth its weight in gold
The experience of traveling
Lends a wisdom that is old
Beyond our ‘living memory’
A softly spoken prayer:
“It’s the journey that’s important,
Not the getting there!”
Ins and outs and ups and downs
Life’s road meanders aimlessly?
Or so it seems, but somehow
Leads us where we need to be,
And being simply human
We oft question and compare…
“Is the journey so important
Or the getting there?”
And thus it’s always been
That question pondered down the ages
By simple men with simple ways
To wise and ancient sages…
How sweet then, quietly knowing
Reaching destination fair:
“It’s the journey that’s important, Not the getting there!”

Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions.
Watch your actions, for they become habits.
Watch your habits, for they become character.
Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.

Things mostly happen for the best.
However hard it seems to-day,
When some fond plan has gone astray
Or, what you’ve wished for most is lost
An’ you sit countin’ up the cost
With eyes half-blind by tears o’grief
While doubt is chokin’ out belief,
You’ll find when all is understood
That what seemed bad was really good.
Life can’t be counted in a day.
The present rain that will not stop
Next autumn means a bumper crop.
We wonder why some things must be-
Care’s purpose we can seldom see-
An’ yet long afterwards we turn
To view the past, an’ then we learn
That what once filled our minds with doubt
Was good for us as it worked out.
I’ve never know an hour of care
But that I’ve later come to see
That it has brought some joy to me.
Even the sorrows I have borne,
Leavin’ me lonely an’ forlorn
An’ hurt an’ bruised an’ sick at heart,
An’ though I could not understand
Why I should bow to Death’s command,
That it was really better so.
Things mostly happen for the best.
So narrow is our vision here
That we are blinded by a tear
An’ stunned by every hurt an’ blow
Which comes to-day to strike us low.
An’ yet some day we turn an’ find
That what seemed cruel once was kind.
Most things, I hold, are wisely planned
If we could only understand.