You take a cat up by the tail,
And whirl him round and round,
And hurl him out into the air,
Out in to space profound,
He through the yielding atmosphere
Will many awhirl complete;
But when he strikes upon the ground
He'll land upon his feet.
Fate takes a man, just like a cat,
And, with more force than grace,
It whirls him wiggling round and round,
And hurls him into space;
And those that fall upon the back,
Or land upon the head,
Fate lets them lie there where they fall—
They're just as good as dead.
But some there be that, like the cat,
Whirl round and round and round,
And go gyrating off through space,
Until they strike the ground;
But when at last the ground and they
Do really come to meet,
You'll always find them right side up—
They land upon their feet.
And such a man walks off erect,
Triumphant and elate,
And with a courage in his heart
He shakes his fist at fate;
Then fate with a benignant smile
Upon its face outspread,
Puts forth its soft, caressing hand
And pats him on the head.
And he's fate's darling from that day,
His triumph is complete;
Fate loves the m an who whirls and whirls,
But lands upon his feet.
That man, whate'er his ups and downs,
Is never wholly spurned,
Whose perpendicularity
Is never overturned.
