If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world. (C.S. Lewis) How gives The Lord this rest? As my God lives, I’ll tell you, Sloth: he gives his rest Under a yoke—his sweet bequest, Blood-bought, and suited to the back Of every weary saint. The knack Of all our plowing: Jesus makes The weighty burden light, and takes The yoke-beams in his hand, and lifts and carries us. Our works are gifts. And Jesus is the giver. Grace Bought and powers every pace, And every enterprise. Sloth, we were made, and made again, to be Co-makers with the Maker of the world—to see the world above and then to make the world below More beautiful, to learn, to know, And then to make, to shape, adorn, compose, produce, and turn a thorn Into an etching tool—to write, to say What never has been said that way, To sing, to draw, to paint, to build, To stitch and weave until we’ve filled The world with truth. For this...