Quit! Give up! You're beaten! They shout at 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 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 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 that race, Or, tie for first, and 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 would be the one. The whistle blew, and off they went Young hearts and hopes afire To win, to be the hero there Was each young boy's desire. And one boy in particular, Whose dad was in the crowd, Was running near the head 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 upon his face. So, down he fell, and with him hope - he couldn't win