Jesus, while upon earth, said, “Come unto me all  ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will  give you rest.” These words appeal to a need most  felt by those who are most alive in an intellectual  sense: men who discern in the starry immensities  around them the sphere of immeasurable aspiration  – the potentiality of unutterable heights of faculty  and glorious life – who, looking into themselves  and out upon the face of the fair earth which they  tread, with its multitudinous manifestation of life,  with some latent intuition of the high meaning of  things, have their hearts drawn out into infinite  longings which nothing in human life, as it now  is, can satisfy. All men experience the vanity of  life as it now is upon earth, but none so keenly as  these. They labour and are heavy laden: labour in  the futile effort to grasp the reason of things: are  heavy laden in the mental oppression which the  immensity and the inscrutability of things brings  upon their spirits. If Christ is what he alleged he  was, there is peace for this intellectual perturbation  which cannot elsewhere be found. In the light of  his existence and mission, creation is delivered  from the gloom in which it appears to merely  natural eyes. If unbelievers say there is no gloom  in creation for them, it is the mere repartee of  intellectual resentment, or the utterance of a crude  experience which has not yet learnt the sadness of  life as it now is – the sadness that inevitably waits  when the effervescence of young blood has subsided,  when the poetic ardours of fresh life have expended  themselves, when business has lost its aim and its  interest, and when mortal energy wanes, and man  is forced to recognise in the encroachment