When the pitiless gong rings out again, and they whip your chair
away,
When you feel you'd like to take the floor, whatever the crowd
should say,
When the hammering gloves come back again, and the world goes round
your head,
When you know your arms are only wax, your hands of useless lead,
When you feel you'd give your heart and soul for a chance to clinch
and rest,
And through your brain the whisper comes,
"Give in, you've done your best,"
Why, stiffen your knees and brace your back--and take my word
as true--
_If the man in front has got you weak, he's just as tired as
you_.
He can't attack through a gruelling fight and finish as he began;
He's done more work than you to-day--you're just as fine a man.
So call your last reserve of pluck--he's careless with his chin--
You'll put it across him every time--Go in--Go in--_Go in!_