Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from Polterpole, I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winceed nor cried aloud, under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody but unbound. Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade, and yet the menace of the years finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how straight the date or charged with punishment the scroll. I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.