Not by appointment do we meet delight Or joy; they heed not our

The poet Gerald Massey, with words wrought in quiet fire, speaks thus: “Not by appointment do we meet delight or joy; they heed not our expectancy; but round some corner of the streets of life they of a sudden greet us with a smile.” In this utterance lies the wisdom of ages: that the sweetest visitations of the spirit come not when summoned, but when least anticipated. Delight and joy are not courtiers to our command, nor do they keep time by the clock of man. They come like the dawn breaking through the storm, or like a friend found suddenly amidst the wilderness of despair.

The ancients knew this truth well. They who prayed to the gods could not bind them to appear at an hour of their choosing. Apollo’s light rose when it would, not when mortals demanded it. In the same manner, joy and delight walk unseen at our side, yet reveal themselves only when the heart has ceased its restless watching. Thus does the poet remind us that expectancy breeds only weariness, but surrender to life’s unfolding brings forth its richest surprises.

Consider the tale of Archimedes, the sage of Syracuse. Long did he labor in his mind to discover the truth of a king’s crown, yet clarity eluded him. At last, it was not in the chamber of thought nor by the instruments of geometry that delight visited him, but in the bath. As the waters overflowed, so too did wisdom rush into his spirit, and he cried aloud, “Eureka!” Here is the very image of Massey’s truth: joy comes not by appointment, but bursts upon us “round some corner of the streets of life.”

In our own age also is this lesson lived. Many seek happiness as though it were gold to be mined by toil and planning. They chase it in wealth, in rank, in pleasures carefully purchased. Yet when they reach, it slips like water through the hand. Then, unlooked for, a child’s laughter, a song carried by the wind, or the sudden kindness of a stranger opens the soul wider than all their striving. In that instant they find that delight does not answer to appointment, but moves in freedom, bearing gifts unearned.

There is power in this teaching, for it frees the weary heart from endless striving. To live as though every joy must be caught by design is to bind oneself in chains. But to walk in patience, to labor faithfully yet without grasping, is to open oneself to the divine surprises hidden in life’s ordinary ways. Thus should men and women move as pilgrims, not hunters; as lovers of the road itself, not mere seekers of the destination.

The lesson, then, is clear: cease to demand that joy obey your summons. Instead, dwell in readiness, in gratitude, and in openness. Live well the daily path, cultivate goodness, perform your labors with devotion, but do not cling to expectation. Let the heart be like a vessel waiting for the rain, not a master commanding the clouds. In this way shall the soul be ever surprised by sudden smiles, by light breaking through shadow, by delight that flows unbidden.

Practical counsel may be drawn from this: walk each day with awareness. Speak kindly, though no reward be promised. Pause to listen when the wind stirs the trees, for therein may hide a moment of delight. When sorrow weighs heavy, do not despair that joy is gone forever; remember it waits around the unseen corner, preparing its return. Above all, trust that the road itself is strewn with secret gifts, and that in due time, as Massey tells us, they will “greet us with a smile.”

Thus, O listener, carry this teaching as a lamp for the journey. Do not bargain with life for happiness, but let it come when it will. For it shall come—suddenly, unexpectedly, and gloriously—as surely as the dawn follows night. And when it does, your heart shall know the truth of Massey’s words, and rejoice that joy itself cannot be bound, but only welcomed.