"Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls." Mat. 11:28,29. Wonderful words of love and hope! Never did a sweeter nor richer invitation than this reach mortal ears. A whole world of humankind groaning under a burden, tossing in unrest, laboring under pain, sighing with sorrow, roaming in discontent, filled with fear, sinking in despair. But One appears upon the scene and says, "Come unto me, and I will give you rest." Oh, may the humble followers of the lowly Nazarene echo and reecho this invitation of love among the haunts of men as long as time shall last! Amid a world of sin and trouble, a soul at rest; how blessed! You remember the day you came to him. Your sins with all the burden of guilt were taken away and you found rest. Later you dedicated yourself fully and forever to the Lord and entered into the fulness of his rest. Canaan's fair land is the soul's sweet home of rest. What heaven will be we can not know now. Doubtless scenes and experiences will arise of such a nature as to greatly enhance the felicity of our hearts; but the revelation of heaven upon a sanctified soul and "The enjoyment of heavenly bliss E'en in a world like this" can never be told. Storms will arise and threaten you; but if the cable of faith remains unbroken and the anchor of hope unshaken, your little bark can sail on sweetly at rest. Doubts are very destructive to soul-rest; therefore they must be dispelled at their first approach. By faith your soul can be kept in the precious realization of heavenly enjoyments; you can have sweet walks with God and tastes of his love all along your journey of life. By living in the vale of humble submission to God, fully and freely yielded to his control, upon your soul the sweets of heaven's graces will be distilled like the gentle siftings of the evening dew upon the flower, transporting you to wondrous felicity in God all along your pilgrim way. Behold the fowls of the air: They sow not, neither do they reap; Yet kings have not more healthful fare, Nor rest in calmer, sweeter sleep. They have no barns nor hoarded grain, Yet all day long a soft, sweet strain They warble forth from forest tree; Ever happy and ever free, Teaching a lesson dear to me. So free from care, O sylvan band; Fed by a heavenly Father's hand. Your freedom, O ye fowls of heaven, New courage to my soul hath given; I no more can doubt or sorrow: God will care for me to-morrow.