Lord Of Himself

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  How happy is he born and taught
  That serveth not another's will;
  Whose armor is his honest thought,
  And simple truth his utmost skill.

  Whose passions not his masters are,
  Whose soul is still prepared for death;
  Not tied unto the world with care
  Of public fame or private breath.

  Who envies none that chance doth raise,
  Or vice; who never understood
  How deepest wounds are given by praise,
  Nor rules of state but rules of good.

  Who hath his life from rumors freed,
  Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
  Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
  Nor ruin make accusers great.

  Who God doth late and early pray
  More of his grace than gifts to lend;
  And entertains the harmless day
  With a well-chosen book or friend.

  This man is freed from servile bands,
  Of hope to rise or fear to fall;
  Lord of himself, though not of lands,
  And having nothing, yet hath all.

© Sir Henry Wotton