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! THE PRODIGAL SON (Western Version) Here come I to my own again, Fed, forgiven and known again, Claimed by bone of my bone again And cheered by flesh of my flesh. The fatted calf is dressed for me, But the husks have greater zest for me, I think my pigs will be best for me, So I'm off to the Yards afresh. I never was very refined, you see, (And it weighs on my brother's mind, you see) But there's no reproach among swine, d'you see, For being a bit of a swine. So I'm off with wallet and staff to eat The bread that is three parts chaff to wheat, But glory be!--there's a laugh to it, Which isn't the case when we dine. My father glooms and advises me, My brother sulks and despises me, And Mother catechises me Till I want to go out and swear. And, in spite of the butler's gravity, I know that the servants have it I Am a monster of moral depravity, And I'm damned if I think it's fair! I wasted my substance, I know I did, On riotous living, so I did, But there's nothing on record to show I did Worse than my betters have done. They talk of the money I spent out there-- They hint at the pace that I went out there-- But they all forget I was sent out there Alone as a rich man's son. So I was a mark for plunder at once, And lost my cash (can you wonder?) at once, But I didn't give up and knock under at once, I worked in the Yards, for a spell. Where I spent my nights and my days with hogs, And shared their milk and maize with hogs, Till, I guess, I have learned what pays with hogs And--I have that knowledge to sell! So back I go to my job again, Not so easy to rob again, Or quite so ready to sob again On any neck that's around. I'm leaving, Pater. Good-bye to you! God bless you, Mater! I'll write to you.... I wouldn't be impolite to you, But, Brother, you _are_ a hound! THE NECESSITARIAN I know not in Whose hands are laid To empty upon earth From unsuspected ambuscade The very Urns of Mirth; Who bids the Heavenly Lark arise And cheer our solemn round-- The Jest beheld with streaming eyes And grovellings on the ground; Who joins the flats of Time and Chance Behind the prey preferred, And thrones on Shrieking Circumstance The Sacredly Absurd,