The test of a man is the fight he makes,
The grit that he daily shows;
The way he stands on his feet and takes
Fate’s numerous bumps and blows.
A coward can smile when there’s naught to fear,
When nothing his progress bars;
But it takes a man to stand up and cheer
While some other fellow stars.
It isn’t the victory, after all,
But the fight that a brother makes;
The man who, driven against the wall,
Still stands up erect and takes
The blows of fate with his head held high;
Bleeding, and bruised, and pale,
Is the man who’ll win in the by and by,
For he isn’t afraid to fail.
It’s the bumps you get, and the jolts you get,
And the shocks that your courage stands,
The hours of sorrow and vain regret,
The prize that escapes your hands,
That test your mettle and prove your worth;
It isn’t the blows you deal,
But the blows you take on the good old earth,
That show if your stuff is real.