Garland Lads, Poetic Lasses

by john clare

We know their part within the play is often small,
And they do not seek the encore as the curtains fall,
But that keeps them not from doing their best,
To say their single line when comes the time.
And well we know when upon that starting line,
Though valiant they run, the garland crown they seldom wear,
Yet it quenches not the hope in every lad of flowing hair.
In tears they run to our side as to other victor's go the crown,
We cheer the brave effort for the forgotten line not found.
The sun soon sets, the night finds them still upon the stage,
We yield the field before the reading of the final page.
What of the lads rounding the turn of the cinder way?
What of the lasses in the wings waiting to close the play?
Have we brought these little ones this far to falter?
Do we offer them the consolation of an empty altar?
Pray the fair haired lads run to the Lord's finish line,
Pray the lasses find the practiced, poetic lines so divine.
Quench not the hope in the young hearts first gleam,
Give them His holy victor's stand for their dream.
And together we shall build for them a step to God,
And to God the lads shall run with armor fully shod,
And to God the lasses shall speak the grand gospel lines,
Bearing the good news marching onward toward Zion.