By John Sullivan Dwight
Sweet is the pleasure,
Itself cannot spoil!
Is not true leisure
One with true toil?
Thou that wouldst taste it,
Still do thy best;
Use it, not waste it,
Else ’t is no rest.
Wouldst behold beauty
Near thee? all round?
Only hath duty
Such a sight found.
Rest is not quitting
The busy career;
Rest is the fitting
Of self to its sphere.
’T is the brook’s motion,
Clear without strife,
Fleeing to ocean
After its life.
Deeper devotion
Nowhere hath knelt;
Fuller emotion
Heart never felt.
’T is loving and serving
The Highest and Best!
’T is Onwards! unswerving,
And that is true rest.
Source: The Dial (July 1840) p. 22