How different the believer's state in heaven will be from what it is here! Here we are born to toil and suffer weariness. But in the land of the immortal? Fatigue is never known.

Anxious to serve your Master, you find your strength unequal to your zeal. Your constant cry is, "Help me to serve you, O my God!" If you are thoroughly active, you will have much labor. Not too much for your will, but more than enough for your power, so that you will cry out, "I am not weary of the work, but I am weary in it."

Ah! Christian! The hot day of weariness will not last forever. The sun is nearing the horizon. It shall rise again with a brighter day than you have ever seen—upon a land where they serve God day and night, and yet rest from their labors.

Here, rest is but partial. There, it is perfect. Here, you are always unsettled, feeling that you have not yet attained. There, all are at rest. They have attained the summit of the mountain. They have ascended to the bosom of their God. Higher they cannot go.

Ah, toil-worn laborer! Only think—you shall rest forever! Can you conceive it? It is a rest eternal. A rest that "remains."

Here, my best joys bear "mortal" on their brow. My fair flowers fade. My dainty cups are drained to dregs. My sweetest birds fall before Death's arrows. My most pleasant days are shadowed into nights. And the flood-tides of my bliss subside into ebbs of sorrow.

But there? Everything is immortal! The harp abides unrusted, the crown unwithered, the eye undimmed, the voice unfaltering, the heart unwavering. And the immortal being is wholly absorbed in infinite delight.

Happy day! Happy! When mortality shall be swallowed up of life, and the Eternal Sabbath shall begin!