Out of the night that covers me
Black as a pit from pole to pole.
I thank whatever gods may be
For my conquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeoning of chance,
My head is bloody but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears,
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And but, the menace of the years,
Finds, and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how straight the gate,
How charged with punishment the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.
-By Mr. William Ernest Henly