The Quitter When you're lost in the Wild, and you're scared as a child,

And Death looks you bang in the eye,

And you're sore as a boil, its according to Hoyle

To cock your revolver and . . . die.

But the Code of a Man says: "Fight all you can,"

And self-dissolution is barred.

In hunger and woe, oh, its easy to blow . . .

Its the hell-served-for-breakfast thats hard.

"You're sick of the game!" Well, now thats a shame.

You're young and you're brave and you're bright.

"You've had a raw deal!" I know  but don't squeal,

Buck up, do your damnedest, and fight.

Its the plugging away that will win you the day,

So don't be a piker, old pard!

Just draw on your grit, its so easy to quit.

Its the keeping-your chin-up thats hard.

Its easy to cry that you're beaten  and die;

Its easy to crawfish and crawl;

But to fight and to fight when hopes out of sight 

Why thats the best game of them all!

And though you come out of each gruelling bout,

All broken and battered and scarred,

Just have one more try  its dead easy to die,

Its the keeping-on-living thats hard. Rhymes of a Rolling Stones. Robert W. Service. Toronto: William Briggs, 1912; New York: Dodd Mead, 1912; London: Fisher Unwin, 1913.