Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud:
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.
Of course it's far too long, but how about the last two lines as an inscription? Or, if you're feeling particularly antsy, what about `My head is bloody, but unbowed'?
W E Henley's Invicta has always inspired me:
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance,
I have not winced nor cried aloud:
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.
Of course it's far too long, but how about the last two lines as an inscription? Or, if you're feeling particularly antsy, what about `My head is bloody, but unbowed'?
Whatever you decide, have a very happy birthday!