Improvement...by Edgar A. Guest

The joy of life is living it, or so it seems to me;
In finding shackles on your wrists, then struggling till you're free;
In seeing wrongs and righting them, in dreaming splendid dreams,
Then toiling till the vision is as real as moving streams.
The happiest mortal on the earth is he who ends his day
By leaving better than he found to bloom along the way.

Were all things perfect here there would be naught for man to do;
If what is old were good enough we'd never need the new.
The only happy time of rest is that which follows strife,
And sees some contribution made unto the joy of life.
And he who has oppression felt and conquered it is he
Who really knows the happiness and peace of being free.

The miseries of earth are here and with them all must cope.
Who seeks for joy, through hedges thick of care and pain must grope.
Through disappointment man must go to value pleasure's thrill;
To really know the joy of health a man must first be ill.
The wrongs are here for man to right, and happiness is had
By striving to supplant with good the evil and the bad.

The joy of life is living it and doing things of worth,
In making bright and fruitful all the barren spots of earth.
In facing odds and mastering them and rising from defeat,
And making true what once was false, and what was bitter, sweet.
For only he knows perfect joy whose little bit of soil
Is richer ground than what it was when he began to toil.

My first acquaintance with Mr. Guest's work was a poem entitled, "Only a Dad." While searching for an idea for a Father's Day present from my children to their dad, I discovered this piece and was drawn to it immediately. Later, I found his work, "Imagination," and those of you who know me well, know just how well that poem describes me. It has become a theme for me throughout our home-building process. While some may find him a bit too sentimental for their tastes, I find that Mr. Guest excels at revealing the nobility of the commonplace. Of giving words to the silent struggles of the heart. Of championing the underdog. I can't help but think that he must have been a very good friend...a great encourager...a wonderful listener...because his capacity to understand the human condition is evident in the tenderness, bordering on reverence, he exhibits towards domestic life.

A few months ago, I purchased a beautiful, old book of his poetry from Ebay, and while searching it for a poem to share with a young lady about to get married, I found the poem above. Again, it seems that Mr. Guest has been privy to my thoughts, writing something that I could've written...had I his talent.

Poetry is part of our life, as I will frequently share passages with my children, and I will assign them poetry for copywork on a regular basis. Being boys, I must admit, they don't always jump for joy when I head towards the poetry shelf. Secretly, though, I think they enjoy our discussions...and I enjoy those "A-ha" moments...when something we've talked about in a poem comes up somewhere else in prose...and they remember and make the connection.

Poetry adds beauty to everyday life. Elevates our thoughts. Lightens our load.

I'm grateful to God for the gift of language, and for the gifting of wordsmiths like Mr. Guest.