Today, our son Armstead Brandon Burki Liebl left with other poolees for Parris Island USMC boot camp for recruit training to become a US Marine. How apropos a date for him to leave...the fight is a generational one over ideology, identity and way of life.
IF
By Rudyard Kipling
(1865-1936)
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
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.
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
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.
A Man is He Who is Resolute
By Khushal Khan Khattak
(1613-1689)
A man is he who is resolute
And who will share his blessings,
Who's gentle with his fellow men.
In all he does in life;
His face, his face-- his word, his word.
His promise always kept.
Who never lies, never deceives,
Never succumbs to greed;
Whose words are few, many his deeds,
All silently performed.
Who's like a rosebud, smiling mouthed,
His breast open to see;
When there is talk of lowliness
Or else stateliness.
Who's like the heavens in his grandeur,
Or humble as the dust.
In dignity like to the cypress,
But in bounteousness
Like to the vine, its branches laden,
Spread in all directions.
His face bright as a new blown rose
That makes the garden fair,
While all around the nightingales
Pour out their joyous song.
And who will share his blessings,
Who's gentle with his fellow men.
In all he does in life;
His face, his face-- his word, his word.
His promise always kept.
Who never lies, never deceives,
Never succumbs to greed;
Whose words are few, many his deeds,
All silently performed.
Who's like a rosebud, smiling mouthed,
His breast open to see;
When there is talk of lowliness
Or else stateliness.
Who's like the heavens in his grandeur,
Or humble as the dust.
In dignity like to the cypress,
But in bounteousness
Like to the vine, its branches laden,
Spread in all directions.
His face bright as a new blown rose
That makes the garden fair,
While all around the nightingales
Pour out their joyous song.
