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. Too 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. Even though he came in last. With head bowed head low, unproud, You would have thought he 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 to win my race. For