"Quit! Give up! You're beaten!"
They shout at me and plead.
"There's just to 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 downward 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
Rejuvenates 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.
tie for first, or in 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 would be the one.
The starting gate dropped and off they went!
Young hearts and hopes afire,
to win and be the hero there
Was each young boy's desire.
And one boy in particular,
Whose dad was in the croud,
Was racing near the lead and thought:
"My dad will be so proud!"
But as they speeded down the track,
Across a shallow dip,
The little boy who thought to win,
Lost his line and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself,
His hand threw out to brace,
And mid the laughter of the croud,
He fell flat on his face.
So down he fell and with him hope,
-He couldn't win it now-
Embarrassed, sad,he only wished,
To disappear somehow.
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 rode with all his mind and might
To make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself,
-To catch up and to win-
His mind went faster than his bike:
He slipped and crashed again!
He wished then he had quit before
With only one disgrace.
"Im hopeless as a racer now:
I shouldn"t try to race."
But in the laughing crowd he searched
And found his father's face;
That steady look that 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 those yards", he thought
"I've got to ride real fast."
Exerting everything he had
He regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead,
He slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently,
-A tear dropped from his eye-
"There is no sense racing any more;
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's the use," he thought.
"I'll live with my disgrace."
But then he thought about his dad,
Who soon he'd have to face.
"Get up", an 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 it all.
For winning is no more than this:
To rise each time you fall." |
So up he rose to race once more,
And with a new commit.
He resolved that, win or lose,
At least he wouldn't quit.
So far behind the others now,
-The most he'd ever been-
Still he gave it all he had,
And rode as though to win
Three times he had fallen, crashing;
Three times he rose again;
Too far behind to hope to win,
He still raced to the end
They cheered the winning rider,
As he crossed the line first place,
Head high, and proud, 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."
And now when things seem dark and hard,
And difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy,
Helps me in my race
For all of life is like that race,
With ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win,
Is rise each time you fall.
"Quit! Give up! You're beaten!"
They still shout in my face,
But another voice within me says:
"GET UP AND WIN THE RACE"
|
