Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank which ever gods may be,
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not 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 all the menance of the years,
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How chargeed with punishment the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.