“Just what is Joy? You ask, I can’t explain
What happens when the dry earth feels the rain
But there is a quick response within the seed
That stirs to verdant life to met a need
for fruitful growth, an ardent quickening.

The seed depends on the sun and rain and spring
To give the signal for the fast release
Of still potential power. The caprice
of weather, like a bryant’s whim, withholds
Or gives the royal order that unfolds
The prisoned plant. My heart, that curious seed,
Holds magic within itself to meet its need.

My thoughts are rain-gods, summoning from thin air
The blessed rain, the sunshine warm and fair
To stir the earth-flesh into fertile power
And lure the vine of joy to radiant flower.

Joy is the heart-search going bravely forth
To follow the wild goose trumpets, sounding North
Joy is response to life, the urge to song
That swells the linnet’s throat; Joy is the gong
Of dawn resounding in the hearts of men
After a vigiled night. Joy is the wren
That feels the eggs astir beneath her breast,
Joy is the glad expectancy, the zest
Of Living in Youth’s clear, far-searching eyes;
Joy is the pilot winging down free skies
To distant goals. Joy is the flooding light
That banishes dark spectors of the night.

“Just what is joy?” You ask. Turn to the clod
Within your breast.....Joy is the pulse of God!

Don Blanding (1953)

P.S. Silent partner says “When you were thirty your heart had beat roughly (sometimes very roughly) one billion, one hundred million times. Did you make your heart? Could you make it beat? Is it not truly the “pulse of God?”

Is each of the millions of hearts in the world its own self-sustaining power plant, or is there ONE POWER pulsing all?

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