The cove who never kids himself,
Who looks at facts without a frown,
Who knows that life is full of knots,
And not a bed of eiderdown
Who does his stuff against the breaks,
Unmindful of the yapping throng,
With little time for alibis
Will get along.

The cove who knows the uphill road
Is better training for the fray
Than sliding into quick renown
Along the somewhat softer way
Who throws self-pity to the gales
And knows that life is mostly fight,
Who chirps, 'What of it?' in defeat-
Will do all right.

The bloke who knows the world is rough,
And not a clover bed of rest;
Who takes his fortune as it comes
And promptly counters with his best
Who slogs along through fogs of doubt,
Fear, pain and envy and despair,
With clear eyes fixed upon the goal
Will get somewhere.

The bloke who chucks aside pretense
And stands four-square with what he has,
Who still can take a sock or two,
Nor crumble up before the razz
Who doesn't sour on the scrap
Because his luck is badly frayed,
But plays the game out to the turn
Will make the grade.