Joy


by Elizabeth Laing Thompson

The joy is in the trying, the hoping, the crying;
The joy is in the wanting, the wishing, the hunting;
The joy is in the dreaming, the planning, the scheming;
The joy is in the yearning, the aching, the burning;
The joy is in the striving, the longing, the sighing;

The joy is in the training, the sweating, the straining;
The joy is in the chasing, the sprinting, the racing;
The joy is in the drafting, the building, the crafting;
The joy is in the writing, the plotting, revising;
The joy is in the baiting, the watching, the waiting;

The joy is in the noble-questing, never-resting, go-out-westing;
The joy is in the white-whale-chasing, windmill-killing, true-love-saving;
The joy is in the risk-taking, heart-breaking, hope-waking;
The joy is in the nerve-wracking, hand-wringing, head-scratching;
The joy is in the star-seeking, moon-shooting, far-reaching;

The joy is in the goal-setting, soul-stretching,
almost-getting—

‘Cause when at last we grasp
that wished-for, longed-for, long-sought prize,
we pause, and smile, and sigh—
and look around, a wistful eager gleam sparking in our eyes,
scanning the horizon for the next
mountain to scale, dragon to slay, heart to capture—
and with eyes twinkling, heart thrilling, joy swelling,
we turn and clap our hands and say,
“What’s next?”

The joy is in the trying, the hoping, the crying…