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, and cried aloud.
Under the bludgeoning of chance,
My head is bloody, yet 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 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-
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