poem

Hi everyone, recenlt got to chat with a friend going through hard times and told him about a poem I grew up with. He hadn't heard of it before but once he read it said it helped him a lot.
We all have ups and downs in life and this poem has helped me too.
I hope it can anyone else who may need or just enjoy reading it. : )

THE RACE

Quit; Give up; You’re beaten!”
They shout to me 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 failures 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
Now 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 the race.
Or tie for first, or of 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 whistle blew, 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 on the crowd,
Was running near the lead, and thought;
“My dad will be so proud!”

But as they speeded 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.

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 ran 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 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 father’s 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 those yards, he thought,
I’ve got to move 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 laid there silently.
A tear dropped from his eye,
There’s no sense on 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’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 at all;
For winning is no more than this:
To rise each time you fall!

So up he rose to run 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 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, unproud,
You would have thought he’d won the race
To listen to that 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!

	Author	Topic: poem (Read 512 times)
0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.