When you're lost in the wild, and you're scared as a child
And death looks you bang in the eye
And you're sore as a boil, it's according to Hoyle
To **** your revolver and... die
But the code of a man says: "Fight all you can,"
And self-dissolution is barred
In hunger and woe, oh it's easy to blow
It's the hell-served-for-breakfast that's hard
"You're sick of the game!" Well, now, that's a shame
You're young, and you're brave, and you're bright
"You've had a raw deal!" I know-but don't squeal
Buck up, do your damnedest, and fight
It's the plugging away that will win you the day,
So don't be a piker, old pard!
Just draw on your grit; it's so easy to quit:
Its the keeping-your-chin-up that's hard.
It's easy to cry that you're beaten-and die;
It's easy to crawfish and crawl
But to fight and fight when hope's out of sight-
Why, that's the best game of them all!
And though you may come out of each grueling bout,
All broken and beaten and scarred
Just have one more try-it's dead easy to die
It's the keeping-on-living that's hard.
-Robert Service
