Therefore, since the world has still Much good, but much less good than ill, And while the sun and moon endure Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure, I'd face it as a wise man would, And train for ill and not for good.

The rainy Pleiads wester Orion plunges prone, And midnight strikes and hastens, And I lie down alone.

Nature, not content with denying him the ability to think, has endowed him with the ability to write.

Ten thousand times I've done my best and all's to do again.

Now hollow fires burn out to black, And lights are guttering low: Square your shoulders, lift your pack And leave your friends and go.

I do not choose the right word, I get rid of the wrong one.

But if you ever come to a road where danger; Or guilt or anguish or shame's to share. Be good to the lad who loves you true, And the soul that was born to die for you; And whistle and I'll be there.