Across the canyon walls and desert stone,
Where shifting dust and blazing winds are blown,
There walks a strength no modern mind can gauge,
A living fire etched on history’s page.

They did not claim the fleeting, sudden sprint,
But left their mark in miles of flint,
Through jagged peaks where heavy iron falls,
They rose like shadows over mountain walls.

Eighty miles before the sun could set,
On paths of fire, blood, and heavy sweat.
With water held in check beneath their breath,
They turned endurance into life from death.

When empires came with iron and with steel,
And heavy wheels that made the desert reel,
The light-foot runner claimed the rocky crest,
Outlasting horses driven from the west.

Long before the desert warriors ran,
The Scriptures showed this power given to man:
For when Elijah prayed and drought was done,
A greater, sudden strength had just begun.
He tucked his heavy robe into his belt,
As rain poured down and matching wind was felt,
And on his feet, ahead of Ahab’s steel,
He outran chariots and the horse’s wheel.

So look upon the path before your feet,
When mountains rise and shadows start to meet.
The deepest strength is born of steady pace,
It is the heart, not speed, that wins the race.

For you were built to conquer and sustain,
To rise above the pressure and the pain.
Stand tall, breathe deep, and let your spirit run—
Outlast the storm until the race is won.