IF, my son

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!

–Kipling

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We giving all gained all.
Neither lament us nor praise.
Only in all things recall,
It is Fear, not Death that slays.

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