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The Race

by Mark Spencer © 1994

At the starting line they waited
For the race to begin.
Each runner had a single goal,
To be the one to win.

When the gunshot broke the silence,
The racers sprinted on.
And just like hawks upon the wind,
In seconds they were gone.

Some fought their way up to the front,
The lead they wished to take.
While those who'd gotten in the way,
Were trampled in their wake.

There were many who were broken,
And unable to stand.
Left to crawl for the finish line,
Upon their knees and hands.

And when the leader crossed the line,
Lord Jesus waited there.
He said "My son, you'll have to wait."
Then handed him a chair.

"This race," He said, "you have not won,
It is of my design.
For no one wins the race of life,
'Til ALL have crossed the line."

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Click Here to contact Mark Spencer to request permission to use this poem.