Más allá de la noche que me cubre,
negra como el abismo insondable,
doy gracias al dios que fuere
por mi alma inconquistable.

En las garras de las circunstancias
no he gemido ni llorado.
Sometido a los golpes del destino
mi cabeza sangra, pero está erguida.

Más allá de este lugar de ira y llantos
donde yace el horror de la sombra,
la amenaza de los años
me halla, y me hallará sin temor.

No importa cuán estrecho sea el camino,
ni cuán cargada de castigos la sentencia,
soy el amo de mi destino,
soy el capitán de mi alma.

The Man in the Arena

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.