John Sullivan Dwight (1813–1893)

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.