Sweet is the pleasure
Itself cannot spoil!
Is not true leisure
One with true toil?
Thou, that would taste it,
Still do thy best;
Use it, not waste it,
Else, 'tis 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.
'Tis the brook's motion,
Clear without strife,
Fleeing to ocean,
After its life.
Deeper devotion
Nowhere hath knelt,
Fuller emotion
Heart never felt.
'Tis loving and serving,
The highest and best!
'Tis onward,--unswerving,--
And that is true rest.