WILL you tackle that trouble that came your way

With a stalwart heart and cheerful?

Or hide your face from the light of day

With a craven heart and fearful?

O, a trouble’s a ton, or a trouble’s an ounce,

Or a trouble is what you make it,

And it isn’t the fact that you’re hurt that counts,

 But only, How will you take it?

You’re beaten to earth? Well, what of that?

 Come up with a smiling face;

It’s nothing against you that you fell down flat,

But to lie there——that’s disgrace.

The harder you’re thrown, the higher you bounce,

Your Physician will make you whole.

You fell seven times? That’s not what counts—

Press on to your promised goal!

The battle is hard, severe the cross?

And others cry, “Turn back”?

Ah, soldier true, count all else loss,

And nothing you will lack.

And as your courage higher mounts

Your foes from you will fly;

You’ll die, of course—that’s not what counts,

But only, How will you die?

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