The Race

"Quit, give up you're beaten"
They shout at you and plead.
"There's just too much against you now
This time you can't succeed."

And as I start to hang my head
In front of failure's face.
My down-ward fall is broken by
The memory of a race.

And hope refills my weakened will
As I recall that scene,
For just the thought of that short race
Rejuvinates my being.

A children's race, young boys,
Young men, how I remember well,
Excitement, sure, but also fear,
It wasn't hard to tell.

They all lined up, so full of hope,
Each thought to win that race,
Or tie for first, or if not that
At least take second place.

And fathers watched from off the side
Each cheering for his son,
And each boy hoped to show his Dad
That he could be the one.

The whistle blew and off they went
Young hearts and hopes afire,
To win and be the hero there
Was each young boys desire.

And one boy in particular
Whose Dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought,
"My Dad will be so proud."

But as they sped down the field,
Across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win
Lost his step and slipped.

Trying hard to catch himself
His hands flew out to brace,
And mid the laughter of the crowd,
He fell flat on his face.

But as he fell, his Dad stood up
And showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said,
"Get up, and win the race!"

He quickly rose, no damage done,
Behind a bit, that's all
And ran with all his might and mind
To make up for the fall.

So anxious to restore himself,
To catch up and to win,
His mind went faster than his legs,
He slipped and fell again.

he wished then, he had quit before,
With only one disgrace.
"I'm hopeless as a runner now
I shouldn't try to race."

But in the laughing crowd he searched
And found his fathers face,
That steady look which said again,
"Get up and win the race!"

So up he jumped to try again,
Ten yards behind the last
"If I'm to gain these yards,"he thought
I've got to move real fast."

Exerting everything he had,
He regained eight or ten,
But trying hard to catch the lead,
He slipped and fell again.

Defeat, he lay there silently,
A tear dropped from his eye.
There's no since running anymore,
Three strikes, I'm out; why try?

The will to rise had disappeared
All hope had fled away,
So far behind, so error prone,
A loser all the way.

"I've lost so what," he thought
"I'll live with my disgrace."
But then he thought about his Dad
Whom soon he'd have to face.

"Get up" and echo sounded low,
"Get up and take your place;
You were not meant for failure here,
Get up and win the race!"

With borrowed will "Get up" it said
"You haven't lost at all,
For winning is more than this;
To rise each time you fall."

So far behind the others now,
The most he'd ever been,
Still he gave it all he had,
And ran as though to win.

Three times he'd fallen, stumbling,
Three times he rose again,
To far behind to hope to win,
He still ran to the end.

They cheered the winning runner
As he crossed the line first place,
Head high and proud and happy,
No falling, no disgrace.

But when the fallen youngster
Crossed the line last place,
The crowd gave him the greater
Cheer, for finishing the race.

And even though he came in last
With head bowed low, not proud,
You would have thought he'd won the race,
To listen to the crowd.

And to his Dad he sadly said,
"I didn't do so well."
"To me, you won," his father said
"You rose each time you fell."

Author Unknown