Bible Commentaries
Song of Solomon 1

Verse 2

Better than Wine

June 2, 1872 by C. H. SPURGEON (1834-1892)

"Your love is better than wine." - Song of Song of Solomon 1:2 .

OUTLINE-- I. CHRIST'S LOVE IS BETTER THAN WINE BECAUSE OF WHAT IT IS NOT-- because it may be taken without question because it is to be had without money because it is to be enjoyed without cloying because it is without lees because it will never, as wine will, turn sour because it produces no ill effects II. CHRIST'S LOVE IS BETTER THAN WINE BECAUSE OF WHAT IT IS-- it has certain healing properties it gives strength it gives joy it gives sacred exhilaration III. CHRIST'S LOVE IN THE PLURAL-- Christ's covenant love Christ's forbearing love Christ's personal love Christ's forgiving love Christ's accepting love Christ's guiding love Christ's providing love Christ's instructing love Christ's sanctifying love Christ's sustaining love Christ's upholding love Christ's enduring love Christ's chastening love Christ's love in your dying moments Christ's love to those gathered with him in glory Christ's love on the day of our resurrection IV. CHRIST'S LOVE IN THE SINGULAR-- the love of Christ in the cluster the love of Christ in the basket the love of Christ in the wine-press the love of Christ in the flagon the love of Christ in the cup

The Scriptural emblem of wine, which is intended to be the symbol of the richest earthly joy, has become desecrated in process of time by the sin of man. I suppose, in the earlier ages when the Word of God was written, it would hardly have been conceivable that there could have existed on the face of the earth such a mass of drunken men and women as now pollute and defile it by their very presence. For man, nowadays, is not content with the wine that God makes, but he manufactures some for himself of which he cannot partake, at least in any abundance, without becoming drunken. Redeem the figure in our text, if you can, and go back from the drinking customs of our own day to more primitive and purer times, when the ordinary meal of a man was very similar to that which is spread upon this communion table, ù bread and wine, ù of which men might partake without fear of evil effects; but do not use the metaphor as it would now be understood among the mass of mankind, at least in countries like our own. "Your love is better than wine." In considering these words, in the spirit in which the inspired writer used them, I shall, first of all, try to show you that Christ's love is better than wine because of what is not; and, secondly, that it is better than wine because of what it is. Next, we will examine the marginal reading of the text, which will teach us something about Christ's love in the plural: "Your loves are better than wine." And then, lastly, we will come back to the version we have before us, in which we shall see Christ's love in the singular, for the love of Christ, even when it is described in the plural, is always one; though there are many forms of it, it is evermore the same love.

I. First, then, I want to prove to you that CHRIST'S LOVE IS BETTER THAN WINE BECAUSE OF WHAT IT IS NOT. It is so, first, because it may be taken without question. There may be, and there always will be in the world, questions about wine. There will be some who will say, and wisely say, "Let it alone." There will be others who will exclaim, "Drink of it abundantly;" while a third company will say, "Use it moderately." But there will be no question amongst upright men about partaking to the full of the love of Christ. There will be none of the godly who will say, "Abstain from it;" and none who will say, "Use it moderately;" but all true Christians will echo the words of the Heavenly Bridegroom himself, "Drink, yes, drink abundantly, O beloved." The wisdom of imbibing freely of the love of Christ shall never be questioned even by the pure spirits in heaven; this is the wine which they themselves quaff in everlasting bowls at the right hand of God, and the Lord of glory himself bids them quaff it to their fill. This is the highest delight of all who know Christ, and have been born again by the regenerating power of the Holy Spirit; this is our greatest joy while here below, and we can never have too much of it. Yes, we may even swim in this sea of bliss, and there shall be none who shall dare to ask any one of us, "What do you there?" Many delightsome things, many earthly joys, many of the pleasures of this world, are very questionable enjoyments. Christians had better keep away from everything about which their consciences are not perfectly clear; but all our consciences are clear concerning the Lord Jesus, and our heart's love to him; so that, in this respect, his love is better than wine. Christ's love is also better than wine, because it is to be had without money. Many a man has beggared himself, and squandered his estate, through his love of worldly pleasure, and especially through his fondness for wine; but the love of Christ is to be had without money. What says the Scripture? "Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price." The love of Christ is 'unpurchased'; and I may add that it is 'unpurchasable'. Solomon says, in the eighth chapter of this Book, "If a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be scorned," and we may as truly say, "If a man would give all the substance of his house for the love of Christ, it would be utterly scorned." The love of Jesus comes to his people freely; not because they deserve it, or ever will deserve it; not because, by any merits of their own, they have won it, or by any prayers of their own, they have secured it: it is spontaneous love; it flows from the heart of Christ because it must come, like the a stream that leaps from an ever-flowing fountain. If you ask why Jesus loves his people, we can give no other reason than this-"Because it seemed good in his sight." Christ's love is the freest thing in the world, ù free as the sunbeam, free as the mountain torrent, free as the air. It comes to the child of God without purchase and without merit, and in this respect it is better than wine. Again, Christ's love is better than wine because it is to be enjoyed without cloying. The sweetest matter on earth, which is for a while pleasant to the taste, sooner or later cloys upon the palate. If you find honey, you can soon eat so much of it that you wilt no longer relish its sweetness; but the love of Jesus never yet cloyed upon the palate of a new-born soul. He who has had most of Christ's love has cried, "More! More! More!" If ever there was a man on earth who had Christ's love in him to the full, it was holy Samuel Rutherford; yet you can see in his letters how he labored for suitable expressions, while trying to set forth his hungering and thirsting after the love of Christ. He says he floated upon Christ's love like a ship upon a river, and then he quaintly asks that his vessel may sink, and go to the bottom, till that blessed stream shall flow right over the masthead of his ship. He wanted to be baptized into the love of Christ, to be flung into the ocean of his Savior's love; and this is what the true Christian ever longs for. No lover of the Lord Jesus has ever said that he has had enough of Christ's love. When Madame Guyon had spent many a day and many a month in the sweet enjoyment of the love of Jesus, she penned most delicious hymns concerning it; but they are all full of craving after more, there is no indication that she wished for any change of affection to her Lord, or any change in the object of her affection. She was satisfied with Christ, and longed to have more and more of his love. Ah, poor drunkard! you may put away the cup of devils because you are satiated with its deadly draught; but never did he who drinks of the wine of Christ's love become satiated or even content with it; he ever desires more and yet more of it. Further, Christ's love is better than wine, because it is without lees. All wine has something in it which renders it imperfect, and liable to corruption; there is something that will have to settle, something that must be skimmed off the top, something that needs refining down. So is it with all the joys of earth, there is sure to be something in them that mars their perfection. Men have sought out many inventions of mirth and pleasure, amusement and delight; but they have always found some hitch or flaw somewhere. Solomon gathered to himself all manner of pleasant things that are the delight of kings; he gives us a list of them in the Book of Ecclesiastes: "I made great works for myself; I built houses for myself; I planted vineyards for myself: I made gardens and orchards for myself, and I planted trees in them of all kind of fruits: I made pools of water, to water the woods that brings forth trees: I got servants and maidens, and had servants born in my house; also I had great possessions of great and small cattle above all that were in Jerusalem before me: I gathered also silver and gold for myself, and the peculiar treasure of kings and of the provinces: I got men singers and women singers, and the delights of the sons of men, and musical instruments, and that of all sorts;" but his verdict concerning all of them was, "Behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit." But he who delights himself in the love of Christ will tell you that he finds no vanity and vexation of spirit there; but everything to charm and rejoice and satisfy the heart. There is nothing in the Lord Jesus Christ that we could wish to have taken away from him; there is nothing in his love that is impure, nothing that is unsatisfactory. Our precious Lord is comparable to the most fine gold; there is no alloy in him; no, there is nothing that can be compared with him, for "He is altogether lovely," all perfections melted into one perfection, and all beauties combined into one inconceivable beauty. Such is the Lord Jesus, and such is his love to his people without anything of imperfection needing to be removed. The love of Christ, too, blessed be his name! is better than wine, because it will never, as wine will, turn sour. In certain stages of development, and under certain influences, the sweet ferments, and vinegar is formed instead of wine. Oh, through what fermentations Christ's love might have passed if it had been capable of being acted upon by anything from outside of him! Oh, how often, beloved, have we grieved him! We have been cold and chill towards him when we ought to have been like coals of fire. We have loved the things of this world, we have been unfaithful to our Best-beloved, we have allowed our hearts to wander to other lovers; yet never has he been soured toward us, and never will he be. Many waters cannot quench his love, neither can the floods drown it. He is the same loving Savior now as ever he was, and such he always will be, and he will bring us to the rest which remains for the people of God. Truly, in all these respects, because there are none of these imperfections in his love, it is better than wine. Once more, Christ's love is better than wine, because it produces no ill effects. Many are the mighty men who have fallen down slain by wine. Solomon says, "Who has woe? who has sorrow? who has contentions? who has babbling? who has wounds without cause? who has redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine." But who was ever slain by the love of Christ? Who was ever made wretched by this love? We have been inebriated with it, for the love of Christ sometimes produces a holy exhilaration that makes men say, "Whether in the body, or out of the body, I cannot tell." There is an elevation that lifts the soul above all earthly things, and bears the spirit up beyond where eagles soar, even into the clear atmosphere where God communes with men. There is all that sacred exhilaration about the love of Christ; but there are no evil effects arising from it. He that desires, may drink from this golden chalice, and he may drink as much as he will, for the more he drinks the stronger and the better shall he be. Oh, may God grant to us, dear friends, to know the love of Christ, which passes knowledge! I feel sure that, while I am preaching on such a theme as this, I must seem to some here present, to be talking arrant nonsense, for they have never tasted of the love of Jesus; but those who have tasted of it will, perhaps, by my words, have many sweet experiences called to their minds, which will refresh their spirits, and set them longing to have new draughts of this all-precious love which infinitely transcends all the joys of earth. This, then, is our first point: Christ's love is better than wine because of what it is not.

II. But, secondly, CHRIST'S LOVE IS BETTER THAN WINE BECAUSE OF WHAT IT IS. Let me remind you of some of the uses of wine in the East. Often, it was employed as a medicine, for it had certain healing properties. The good Samaritan, when he found the wounded man, poured into his wounds "oil and wine." But the love of Christ is better than wine; it may not heal the wounds of the flesh, but it does heal the wounds of the spirit. Do not some of you remember when your poor heart was gashed through and through by the dagger of Moses, when you felt the wounds caused by the law, the deadly wounds that could not be healed by human hands? Then, how sweetly did that wine of Christ's love come streaming into the gaping wounds! There were such healing drops as this, "Come unto me, all you that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest;" or such as this, "The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanses us from all sin;" or this, "All manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men;" or this, "He that believes on him is not condemned;" or this, "Look unto me, and be saved, all the ends of the earth: for I am God, and there is none else." I cannot, perhaps, quote the text that dropped like wine and oil into your wounds; but I remember well the text that dropped into mine. The precious vial of wine that healed up all my wounds as in a moment, and made my heart whole, was that text I quoted last, "Look unto me, and be saved, all the ends of the earth." Wine made by man cannot be medicine to a broken heart, nor can it heal a wounded spirit; but the love of Jesus Christ can do this, and do it to perfection. Wine, again, was often associated by men with the giving of strength. Now, whatever strength wine may give or may not give, certainly the love of Jesus gives strength, and strength mightier than the mightiest earthly force, for when the love of Jesus Christ is shed abroad in a man's heart, he can bear a heavy burden of sorrow. If he could have the load of Atlas piled upon his shoulders, and if he could have all the care of all the world pressing upon his heart, yet if he had the love of Christ in his soul, he would be able to bear the load. The love of Christ helps a man to fight the battles of life; it makes life, with all its cares and troubles, a happy one; it enables a man to do great exploits, and makes him strong for suffering, strong for self-sacrifice, and strong for service. It is wonderful, in reading the history of the saints, to notice what the love of Christ has fitted them to do; I might almost say that it has plucked up mountains, and cast them into the sea, for things impossible to other men have become easy enough to men on fire with the love of Christ. What the Church of Christ needs just now to strengthen her, is more love to her Lord, and her Lord's love more fully enjoyed in the souls of her members; there is no strengthening influence like it. Wine was also frequently used as the symbol of joy; and certainly, in this respect, Christ's love is better than wine. Whatever joy there may be in the world (and it would be folly to deny that there is some sort of joy which even the basest of men know), yet the love of Christ is far superior to it. Human joy derived from earthly sources is a muddy, dirty pool, at which men would not drink did they know there was a stream sweeter, cooler, and far more refreshing. The love of Jesus brings a joy that is fit for angels, a joy that we shall have continued to us even in heaven itself, a joy which makes earth like to heaven; it is therefore far better than wine. It is better than wine, once more, for the sacred exhilaration which it gives. I have already spoken of this; the love of Christ is the grandest stimulant of the renewed nature that can be known. It enables the fainting man to revive from his swooning; it causes the feeble man to leap up from his bed of languishing; and it makes the weary man strong again. Are you weary, brother, and sick of life? You only need more of Christ's love shed abroad in your heart. Are you, dear brother, ready to faint through unbelief? You only need more of Christ's love, and all shall be well with you. I would to God that we were all filled with it to the full, like those believers were on the day of Pentecost, of whom the mockers said that they were full of new wine. Peter truly said that they were not drunken, as men supposed; but that it was the Spirit of God and the love of Christ filling them with unusual power and unusual energy, and therefore men knew not what it was. God grant to us also this great power, and Christ shall have all the glory of it!

III. But now passing rapidly on, for our time is flying, the marginal reading of our text is in the plural: "Your loves are better than wine," and this teaches us that CHRIST'S LOVE MAY BE SPOKEN OF IN THE PLURAL, because it manifests itself in so many ways. I ask all renewed hearts that have been won to Jesus, the virgin souls that follow him wherever he goes, to walk with me in imagination over the sacred tracks of the love of Christ. Think, beloved, of Christ's covenant love, the love he had to us before the world was. Christ is no new lover of his people's souls; but he loved them before the day-star knew its place, and before the planets began their mighty revolutions. Every soul whom Jesus loves now, he loved forever and ever. What a wondrous love was that ù infinite, unbounded, everlasting, ù which led him to enter into covenant with God that he would bear our sins, and suffer our penalties, that he might redeem us from going down into the pit! Oh, the covenant love of Jesus! Some dear souls are afraid to believe this truth; let me persuade them to search the Scriptures till they find it, for, of all the doctrines of Holy Writ, I know of none more full of consolation to the heart when rightly received than the great foundation truths of Divine Predestination and Personal Election. When we see that we were eternally chosen in Christ, eternally given to Christ by his Father, eternally accepted in the Beloved, and eternally loved by Christ, then shall we say, with holy gratitude, "Such love as this is better than wines on the lees, well refined." Think next, beloved, of Christ's forbearing loveù the love which looked upon us when we were born, and saw us full of sin, and yet loved us; the love which saw us when we went astray from the womb speaking lies- the love which heard us profanely speak, and wickedly think, and obstinately disobey, yet loved us all the while. Let the thought of it ravish your heart as you sing,

"He saw me ruined in the fall, Yet loved me, notwithstanding all: He saved me from my lost estate, His loving-kindness, oh, how great!"

Thus were we the subjects of Christ's electing love and forbearing love. Yes! but the sweetness to us was when was realized Christ's personal love, when at last we were brought to the foot of his cross, humbly confessing our sins. May I ask you who can do so to go back to that happy moment? There you lay at the cross-foot, broken in pieces, and you thought there was no hope for you; but you looked up to the crucified Christ, and those blessed wounds of his began to pour out a stream of precious blood upon you, and you saw that he was wounded for your transgressions, that he was bruised for your iniquities, that the chastisement of your peace was upon him, and that with his stripes you were healed. That very instant, your sins were all put away; you gave one look of faith to the bleeding Savior, and every spot and speck and stain of your sin were all removed, and your guilt was forever pardoned! When you first felt Christ's forgiving love, I will not insult you by asking whether it was not better than wine. Oh, the unutterable joy, the indescribable bliss, you felt when Jesus said to you, "I have borne your sins in my own body on the tree, I have carried the great load of your transgressions, I have blotted them out like a cloud, and they are gone from you forever!" That was a love that was inconceivably precious; at the very recollection, our heart leaps within us, and our soul does magnify the Lord. Since that glad hour, we have been the subjects of Christ's accepting, love, for we have been "accepted in the Beloved." We have also had Christ's guiding love, and providing love, and instructing love. His love in all manner of ways has come to us, and benefited and enriched us. And, beloved, we have had sanctifying love; we have been helped to fight this sin and that, and to overcome them by the blood of the Lamb. The Spirit of God has been given to us so that we have been enabled to subdue this ruling passion and overcome that evil power. The Lord has also given us sustaining love under very sharp troubles. Some of us could tell many a story about the sweet upholding love of Christ ù in poverty, or in bodily pain, or in deep depression of spirits, or under cruel slander, or reproach. His left hand has been under our head while his right hand has embraced us. We have almost courted suffering itself by reason of the richness of the consolation which suffering times have always brought with them. He has been such a precious, precious, precious Christ to us, that we do not know how to speak well enough of his dear name. Then let us reflect with shame upon Christ's enduring love to us. Why, even since we have been converted, we have grieved him times without number! As I have already reminded you, we have often been false to him, we have not loved him with the love which he might well claim from us; yet Christ has never cast us away, but still to this moment does he smile upon us, his own brethren whom he has bought with blood, and to each one of us he says, "I have graven you upon the palms of my hands. I have espoused you unto myself forever. I will never leave you, nor forsake you." He uses the most kind and endearing terms towards us to show that his love will never die away. Glory be to his holy name for this! Is not his love better than wine? There is one word I must not leave out, and that is, Christ's chastening love. I know that many of you who belong to him have often smarted under his chastening hand, but Christ never smote you in anger yet. Whenever he has laid the cross on your back, it has been because he loved you so much that he could not keep it off. He never took away a joy without meaning thereby to increase your joy, and it was always done for your good. Perhaps we cannot at present say that the Lord's chastising love has always been sweet to us, but we shall say it one day, and I think I must say it now. I bless my dear Master for everything he has done to me, and I can never tell all that I owe to the anvil, and the hammer, and the fire, and the file. Blessed be his name, many of us can say, "Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now have I kept your Word." Therefore will we put in Christ's chastising love among the rest of his loves, and say of it, "This love also is better than wine." We would sooner have the chastisements of God than the pleasures of the world; we would rather have God's cup full of gall than the devil's cup full of the sweetest wine he ever made. We prefer to take God's left hand instead of the world's right hand, and would sooner walk with God in the dark than walk with the world in the light. Will not every Christian say that? Beloved, there are other forms of Christ's love yet to be manifested to you. Do you not sometimes tremble at the thought of dying? Oh, you shall have; and you ought to think of it now, ù you shall have special revelations of Christ's love in your dying moments. Then shall you say, like the governor of the marriage feast at Cana, "You have kept the good wine until now." I believe we have hardly any conception of what comfort the Lord pours into his people's souls in their dying moments. We do not need those comforts yet, and we could not bear them now; but they are laid up in store, and when we need them, they will be brought out, and then shall our spirits find that the Lord's promise is fulfilled, "As your days, so shall your strength be." And then ù but perhaps I had better be silent upon such a theme, ùwhen the veil is drawn, and the spirit has left the body, what will be the bliss of Christ's love to the spirits gathered with him in glory?

"Oh, for the bliss of flying, My risen Lord to meet! Oh, for the rest of lying Forever at his feet! "Oh, for the hour of seeing My Savior face to face! The hope of ever being In that sweet meeting-place!" Or, as Dr. Watts puts it, "Millions of years my wondering eyes Shall over your beauties rove; And endless ages I'll adore The glories of your love."

Then think of the love of the day of our resurrection, for Christ loves our bodies as well as our souls; and, arrayed in glory, these mortal bodies shall rise from the tomb. Oh, the bliss of being like our Lord, and being with him, when he comes in all the splendor of the Second Advent, sitting as assessors with him to judge the world, and to judge even the angels! And then to be in his triumphal procession, when he shall ascend to God, and deliver up the kingdom to the Father, and the Mediatorial system shall be ended, and God shall be all in all! And then to be forever, forever, for ever, "forever with the Lord," with no fear of the soul dying out, with no dread of the false doctrine of annihilation, like a grim specter ever crossing our blissful pathway! With a life co-eternal with the life of God, and an immortality divinely given, we shall outlast the sun; and when the moon grows pale, and wanes forever, and this old earth and all that is therein shall be burned up, yet still shall we be forever with him. Truly, his love is better than wine, it is the very essence of heaven, it is better than anything that we can conceive. God grant us foretastes of the loves of heaven in the present realization of the love of Jesus, which is the self-same love, and through which heaven itself shall come to us!

IV. Now I must have just a few minutes for my last point, and that is, CHRIST'S LOVE IN THE SINGULAR, is a theme which might well suffice for half a dozen sermons at the very least. Look at the text as it stands: "Your love is better than wine." Think, first, of the love of Christ in the cluster. That is where the wine is first. We talk of the grapes of Eshcol; but these are not worthy to be mentioned in comparison with the love of Jesus Christ as it is seen, in old eternity, in the purpose of God, in the covenant of grace, and afterwards, in the promises of the Word, and in the various revelations of Christ in the types and symbols of the ceremonial law. There I see the love of Christ 'in the cluster'. When I hear God threatening the serpent that the seed of the woman should bruise his head, and when, later on, I find many prophecies concerning him who is mighty to save, I see the wine in the cluster, the love of Christ that is really there, but not yet enjoyed. What delight it gives us even to look at the love of Christ in the cluster! Next, look at the love of Christ in the basket, for the grapes must be gathered, and cast into the basket, before the wine can be made. I see Jesus Christ living here on earth among the sons of men, ù gathered, as it were, from the sacred vine, and like a cluster thrown into the basket. Oh, the love of Jesus Christ in the manger of Bethlehem, the love of Jesus in the workshop of Nazareth, the love of Jesus in his holy ministry, the love of Jesus in the temptation in the wilderness, the love of Jesus in his miracles, the love of Jesus in his communion with his disciples, the love of Jesus in bearing shame and reproach for our sakes, the love of Jesus in being so poor that he had not where to lay his head, the love of Jesus in enduring such contradiction of sinners against himself! I cannot hope to enter into this great subject; I can only point it out to you, and pass on. There is, first, Christ's love in the cluster; and next, there is Christ's love in the basket. Think of it, and as you think of it, say, "It is better than wine." But oh! if your hearts have any tenderness towards him, think of the love of Christ in the wine-press. See him there, when the cluster in the basket begins to be crushed. Oh, what a crushing was that under the foot of the treader of grapes when Christ sweat as it were great drops of blood, and how terribly did the great press come down again and again when he gave his back to the smiters, and his cheeks to them that plucked off the hair, and hid not his face from shame and spitting! But oh! how the red wine flowed from the wine-press, what fountains there were of this precious sweetness, when Jesus was nailed to the cross, suffering in body, depressed in spirit, and forsaken of his God! "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?" These are the sounds that issue from the wine-press, and how terrible and yet how sweet they are! Stand there, and believe that all your sins were borne by him, and that he suffered what you ought to have suffered, and, as your Substitute, was crushed for you.

"He bore, that you might never bear, His Father's righteous ire."

Yes, beloved, Christ's love in the wine-press is better than wine. Now I want you to think of the love of Christ in the flagon, where his precious love is stored up for his people ù the love of his promises, given to you; the love of his providence, for he rules for you; the love of his intercession, for he pleads for you; the love of his representation, for he stands at the right hand of the Father as the Representative of his people; the love of his union with his people, for you are one with him, he is the Head, and you are the members of his body; the love of all that he is, and all that he was, and all that he ever shall be, for in every capacity and under all circumstances he loves you, and will love you without end. Think of his rich love, his abundant love towards his people; I call it 'love in the flagon', this love of his to all the saints which he has stored up for them. And then, beloved, not only think of but enjoy the love of Christ in the cup, by which I mean his love to you. I always feel, when I get to this topic, as if I would rather sit down, and ask you to think it over, than try to talk to you about it; this theme seems to silence me. I think, like the poet, "Come, then, expressive silence, muse his praise." Love to me! Dear child of God, do think of it in this way; let me speak for you. "He loves me! He, a King, loves me! A King? The King of kings, HE loves me! God, very God of very God, loves me!" Strange conjunction this between the Infinite and a worm! We have heard and read romantic stories of the loves of emperors to poor village maidens, but what are these compared with Christ's love to us? Worms were never raised so high above their meaner fellow-worms as the Lord Jesus is above us. If an angel loved an emmet, there would be no such difference as when Jehovah-Jesus loves us. Yet there is no fact beneath heaven, or in heaven, that is so indisputable as this fact, that he loves us if we are his believing people. For this we have the declaration of inspiration; no, brethren, we have more even than that to confirm it beyond all question, for we have his own death upon the cross. He signed this document with his own blood, in order that no believer might ever doubt its authenticity. "Herein is love." "Behold what manner of love" there is in the cross! What wondrous love is there! Oh! then, let us have Christ's love in the cup, the love that we may daily drink, the love that we may personally drink just now at this moment, the love which shall be all our own, as if there were no others in the world, and yet a love in which ten thousand times ten thousand have an equal share with ourselves. God bless you, dear friends, and give you to drink of this wine! And if any here know not the love of Jesus Christ, I pray the Lord to bring them to know it. May he renew their heart, and give them faith in him, for whosoever believes that Jesus is the Christ is born of God. "He that believes on him is not condemned." His great gospel word is, "He that believes and is baptized shall be saved." May the Lord confirm this word by his Spirit, for our Lord Jesus Christ's sake! Amen.

Verse 4

A Refreshing Canticle

Winter, 1860 by C. H. SPURGEON (1834-1892)

"We will remember your love more than wine."-Solomon's Song of Solomon 1:4 .

The Hebrew word for "love" here is in the plural: "We will remember your LOVES." Do not think, however, that the love of Jesus is divided, but know that it has different channels of manifestation. All the affections that Christ has, he bestows upon his Church; and these are so varied that they may well be called "loves" rather than "love." By this expression we must understand, of course, all the love of Jesus, from the beginning even to the end; or, rather, to that eternity which has no end. We will remember those acts of love of which we have heard with our ears, and our fathers have declared unto us. It has been told us by inspired prophets, and God has revealed it to us in his Word, by his Spirit, that Jesus Christ loved us from before the foundation of the world. We believe that his love is no passion of modern date, -no mere spasm of pity. It is ancient as his glory, which he had with the Father before the world was, it is one of the things of eternity. This love divine is not a spring that welled up only a few days ago, but it is an everlasting fountain, which has never ceased to flow. We will remember, O Jesus, that love of yours which was displayed in the council chamber of eternity, when you did, on our behalf, interpose as the Arbitrator and Mediator; when you did strike hands with your Father, and become our Surety, and take us as your betrothed! We will remember that love which moved you to undertake a work so burdensome to accomplish an enterprise which none but yourself ever could have achieved. We will remember the love which suggested the sacrifice of yourself; the love which, until the fullness of time, mused over that sacrifice, and longed for the hour of which, in the volume of the Book it was written of you, "Lo, I come." We will remember your love, O Jesus, as it was manifested to us in your holy life, from the manger of Bethlehem to the garden of Gethsemane! We will track you from the cradle to the grave, for every word and every deed of your was love. You, wherever you did walk, did scatter loving kindnesses with both your hands. As it is said of your Father, "God is love," so, surely, you are love, O Jesus! The fullness of the Godhead dwells in you; the essence of love, nothing else but love, is your incarnate person. And specially, O Jesus, will we remember your love to us upon the cross! We will view you as you come from the garden of your agony, and from the hall of your flagellation. We will gaze upon you with your hands and your feet nailed to the accursed tree. We will watch you when you could, if you had willed it, have saved yourself; but when you did, nevertheless, give up your strength, and bow yourself downward to the grave that you might lift us up to heaven. We will remember your love which you did manifest through your poor, bleeding hands, and feet, and side. We will remember this love of your until it invigorates and cheers us "more than wine,"-the love, of which we have heard, which you have exercised since your death, the love of your resurrection, the love which prompts you continually to intercede before your Father's throne, that burning lamp of love which will never let you hold your peace until your chosen ones are all safely housed, and Zion is glorified, and the spiritual Jerusalem is settled on her everlasting foundations of light and love in heaven. We will remember all your love, from its beginning in the eternal past to the eternity that is to come; no, we will try to project our thoughts and imagination, and so to remember that, long as eternity shall continue, even forever and for evermore, so long shall your love exist in all its glory, undiminished in its luster or its force. "We will remember your love more than wine." Nor is this all the love we have to remember. Though we ought to recollect what we have heard, and what we have been taught, I think the spouse means more than this. "We will remember your loves,"-not only what we have been told, but what we have felt. Come, dear hearers, let each one of you speak for yourselves; or, rather, do you think of this for yourselves, and let me speak of it for you. I will remember your love, O Jesus; your love to me when I was a stranger, wandering far from God; the love which restrained me from committing 'deadly' sin, and withheld my hand from self-destruction! I will remember the love which tracked me in my course- "When Satan's blind slave, I sported with death." I will remember the love which held back the axe when Justice said, "Cut it down; why does it cumber the ground?" I will remember the love that took me into the wilderness, and stripped me there of all my self-righteousness, and made me feel my weight of guilt, and the burden of my iniquity. Specially will I remember the love which said to me, "Come unto me, and I will give you rest." I cannot forget that matchless love which, in a moment, washed my sins away, and made my spotted soul white as the driven snow. Can you forget, my brothers and sisters, that happiest of days when Jesus first whispered to you, "I am yours, and you are mine"? I can never forget the transporting hour when he spoke thus to me; it is as fresh in my memory now as if it had only happened this afternoon. I could sing of it, if it were right to stop a sermon for a sonnet; I could sing of that love, passing all measure, which took my soul, and washed it in the precious blood of Jesus, and then clothed it in the spotless robe of his righteousness. O love divine, you do excel all other loves, that you could deal with such a rebellious, traitorous worm, and make that worm an heir of heaven! But we have more love than this to recollect- all the love that we have felt since then. I will remember the valley of Baca and the hill Mizar; nor shall my soul forget those chambers of fellowship where you have unveiled yourself to me. If Moses had his cleft in the rock, where he could see the back parts of his God, we also have had our clefts in the rock, where we have seen the full splendors of the Godhead in the person of Christ. Did David remember the tracks of the wild goat, where he was hunted on the mountains- the cave of Adullam, and the land of Jordan, and of the Hermonites? We, too, can remember spots equally dear to these in blessedness. "The Lord has appeared of old unto me, saying, Yes, I have loved you with an everlasting love: therefore with loving-kindness have I drawn you." Christian, can you not recollect the sweet exchanges there have been between yourself and your Lord, when you have left your griefs at his feet, and borne away a song? Can you not remember some happy seasons when you went to him empty, and came away full? Is your heart heavy just now? It has not always been so. There have been times when, like David, you could dance before the Lord; times of holy merriment when, like Miriam, you could strike your timbrel, and say to those around you, "Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously." There have been times when Jesus and you have not been strangers to one another, for he has linked his arms in yours, and walked along with you; and there have been other times when your head has been upon his bosom, and you could feel his heart beating with warm love to you. Thus, then, in the summary of Christ's loves, which I will now humbly endeavor to pass in review, it will be necessary for me to mention, not only the love we have heard about, but the love we have felt and enjoyed. Do not suppose, dear brothers and sisters, that I am able to refresh your memories upon this sacred subject. It is the Holy Spirit's work to assist you in that matter; but I do trust that the resolution contained in our text will be formed in the heart of every one of you, "We will remember your loves more than wine," and that you will have the grace to carry out that resolution.

I. Here then, beloved, we have A RESOLUTION POSITIVELY EXPRESSED: "We will remember your love." Why does the spouse speak so positively? Because she is inspired; she is not like Simon Peter when he said, "Although all shall be fall away, yet I will not." She is speaking the truth, for she will not forget the love of her Lord. Why is that? For one very good reason, because she cannot. If the Church could forget Christ's love to her, she would do so. She is such a forgetful wife that all her Husband's affections would be lost upon her, were it possible. But that cannot be; there is something about the love of Christ that makes it adhere to those upon whom it is bestowed; we cannot forget it. It enters into the heart, like, wine that seasons the cask, and the scent thereof abides. It pervades the soul; it imbues every faculty; it brings the secret thoughts into obedience to Christ; it flows through every vein of hope and fear, passion and desire. So the spouse could truthfully say to her Lord, "We will remember your love." The virtue was not in her own constancy, but in the tenacity of his affection, wherefore she could not help remembering it. What is there, in the love of Christ; that will compel us to remember it? The things that we recollect best are of certain kinds. Some things that we remember best have been 'sublime' things. When we have stood, for the first time, where we could see a lofty mountain, whose snowy summit pierced the thick ebony clouds, we have said, "We shall never forget this sight." When Humboldt, the great traveler, had his first view of the vast prairies of North America, he declared that he could never forget the sensations of that moment. I can imagine how Dr. Livingstone, when he first came in sight of the magnificent falls which he discovered, might well say, "To my dying day, I shall hear the rushing of that tremendous stream of water." I can myself remember an unusually violent thunderstorm, when the lightnings flew across the heavens, flash after flash, without a moment's pause, as though a thousand suns were dashing through the sky. I also recollect the consternation of men and women when a neighboring house was smitten by the lightning, and burned with a terrific blaze, which could scarcely be seen by reason of the brightness of the lightning. My recollection of that terrible scene will never depart from me. The sublimity of what we have seen often causes us to remember it. So is it with the love of Christ. How it towers to heaven! And mark how brightness succeeds brightness, how flash follows after flash of love unspeakable and full of glory! There is no pause, no interval of darkness or blackness, no chasm of forgetfulness. Its sublimity compels us to remember its manifestation. Again, we are pretty sure to recollect 'unusual' things. If we were asked whether we recollected that the sun had risen, we might say, "It is not a matter of memory at all. I feel certain that it did, though I did not see it rise." But if we are asked if we ever saw an eclipse, "Oh, yes!" we reply, "we recollect that; we remember watching it, and, how disappointed we were because it was not so dark as we expected it to be." Many people do not notice the stars much, but who forgets the comet? Everybody recollects that phenomenon of nature because it is unusual. When we see something strange, uncommon, out of the ordinary way, the memory at once fixes upon it, and holds it fast. So is it with the love of Christ. It is such an extraordinary thing, such a marvelous thing, that the like was never known. Ransack history, and you cannot find its parallel. There is but one love that is like it, that is the love of the Father to his only-begotten Son. Besides this, there is nothing to which we can compare the love of Christ to his people. That "constellation of the cross" is the most marvelous that is to be seen in the spiritual sky; the eye, once spellbound by its charms, must retain its undying admiration, because it is the greatest wonder of wonders, and miracle of miracles which the universe ever saw. Sometimes, too, things which are not important in themselves are fixed on the memory because of 'certain circumstances which happen in association with them'. The country people often say, if you ask them whether they recollect such-and-such a year, "Ah, yes! it was the year of the hard frost, wasn't it?" Another time they will say, "Why, yes! that was the year when the blight fell upon our gardens, and all our potatoes were of no use, and we were nearly starved that winter. Circumstances help to make us recollect facts. If something particular in politics should happen on our birthday, or our wedding day, or on some other notable occasion, we should say, "Oh, yes! I recollect that; it happened the day I was married, or the day so-and-so was buried." Now, we can never forget the love of Christ, because the circumstances were so peculiar when, for the first time, we knew anything at all about it. We were plunged in sin and ruin; we were adrift on the great sea of sin, we had no hope, we were ready to sink, and no shore was near; but Jesus came and saved us. We can never forget those circumstances; with some of us, they were truly awesome, beyond all description. Therefore, we cannot forget the time when Jesus love first dawned upon our minds. I think, my dear friends, I might give you twenty reasons why it would be impossible for the children of God to forget the love of Christ to them; but above and beyond every other reason is this one- 'Christ will not let his people forget his love'. If, at any time, he finds them forgetful, he will come to them, and refresh their memories. If all the love they have ever enjoyed should be forgotten by them, he will give them some fresh manifestations of love. "Have you forgotten my cross?" he asks; "then I will cause you to remember it afresh, for at my table I will manifest myself to you as I have not done of late. Do you forget what I did for you in the council chamber of eternity? Then I will remind you of it, for you still need a Counselor, and I will come to your relief just when you are at your wits' end, and I will give you wisdom. Have you forgotten that I called you to myself when you were a stranger! I will bring you back from your wanderings, and then you will recollect me again." Mothers do not let their children forget them if they can help it. If the boy has gone to Australia, and he does not write home, his mother writes to him, "Has my John forgotten his mother?" Then there comes back a sweet epistle, which lets the mother know that the gentle hint she gave him was not lost. So is it with Christ; he often says to one of his forgetful children, "What! is your heart cold to him who loved you so much that he could not live in heaven without you, but must need come to earth, go out into the wilderness, up to the cross, and down to the grave, in order to find you?" Be sure that he will have our hearts; prone to wander, he knows that they are, and we feel it ourselves, but he will have them. Oh, that he would drive the nail of the cross right through your hearts, that it might be forever fastened there! Painful might the process be; some sharp affliction might rend your flesh; yet, if that would bring you near your Lord, and keep you near him, you might thank him even for the affliction, and love him all the more because of it.

II. Now let us advance another step, and look at THE COMPARATIVE RESOLUTION:"We will remember your love more than wine." Why is "wine" mentioned here? I take it to be used here as a figure. The fruit of the vine represents the chief of earthly luxuries. "I will remember your love more than the choicest or most exhilarating comforts which this world can give me." We have many things which we might compare to wine, in the good and in the bad sense, too. Good, because they cheer, and comfort, and invigorate; bad, because, when we rely upon them, they intoxicate, they overthrow, and cast down to the ground. We very readily remember the good things of earth for a season. When creature comforts abound with us, and we have happy and merry days, we recollect them; and when nights of darkness come upon us, we remember the days of our brightness, and we talk of them. It is so with the widow bereaved of her husband; she remembers the days of her happiness, when the partner of her joys was with her; she recollects his affectionate words, and his sweet deeds of love. In the case of the mother bereaved of her child, she recalls the love that child had to her, and the solace it was to her when her little one slept on her bosom. Have you become poor? Then the "wine" that you recollect is the wealth you once possessed; you remember how you had no need to tramp over weary miles, and to shiver in the wintry cold. Now that your pain has come, you recollect your former joy, and it makes your present pain all the more painful. This "wine" may be, to a minister, the joy of being successful; and there may come to him days when his chapel will be half-empty, and then he will look back, with regret, upon the joys he once possessed. The spouse says, "We will remember your love more than all earthly comforts." She cannot help doing so; if she could, she would recollect the world rather than heaven; she would have a remembrance of creature comforts, and she would be forgetful of her Lord. The fact is, the impression which the love of Christ makes on the true believer is far greater and deeper than the impression which is made by anything earthly. Mere mortal joys write their record on the sand, and their memory is soon effaced; but Christ's love is like an inscription cut deeply into marble, the remembrance of it is deeply engraven in our hearts. The joy of the creature is something like a lithograph cut lightly on the stone; when the stone is cleaned, the picture is gone; but the love of Christ is like the steel engraving, it is deeply cut, and cannot be easily erased. Earthly joys tread with light feet, and leave but a faint impression; but the love of Christ treads into the very core of our soul at every footstep, and therefore it is that we remember it better than we remember any earthly pleasure. Earthly comforts, too, like wine, leave but a mingled impression. In this 'cup of joy' there is always a 'dash of sorrow'. There is nothing we have here below which is not somewhat tainted with grief. Solomon has warned us against the sparkling wine: "Look not upon the wine when it is red, when it gives it's color in the cup, when it moves itself aright. At the last it bites like a serpent, and stings like an adder." Even "friendship", the very cream of joy, trembles on the confines of disappointment, as it is written, "Cursed be the man that trusts in man, and makes flesh his arm." But in Christ's love there is nothing for you ever to regret; when you have enjoyed it to the full, you cannot say that there has been any bitterness in it. When you have come forth from the secret chamber of communion with your Lord, you have realized the purity of his love, there has been nothing to qualify your enjoyment of it. When you have been to a party of your friends, you have said, "I have been very happy, but I could not enjoy myself there six days in a week;" but when you have been with Christ, you have felt that you could enjoy yourself in that way to all eternity; you could not have too much of such fellowship, for there was nothing in it to mar your happiness. True, there is the remembrance of your sin, but that is so sweetly covered by your Lord's forgiveness and graciousness, that his love is indeed better than wine. It has had all the good effects of wine, and none of its ill results. Equally true is it that the remembrance of earth's comforts, of which wine is the type, must be but 'transient'. If the sinner could live many days, and have much wealth, would he remember it when he entered the unseen world? Ah! he might remember it, but it would be with awful sighs and sobs. You know how Abraham spoke, across the great gulf, to the rich man in hell, "Son, remember that you in your lifetime received your good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted, and you are tormented." But we can say, of the love of Christ, that it is better than wine, for we shall rejoice to remember it for all eternity. We shall recount the labors of him who lived and died for us. That is what we shall talk of in heaven; sure I am that this is the theme of all the music and songs of Paradise.

"Jesus, the Lord, their harps employs, Jesus, my Love, they sing! Jesus, the life of all our joys Sounds sweet from every string."

Do you not see, then, why this comparison is made in our text? We remember Christ's love more than the best earthly comforts, because they make but a feeble impression, a mingled impression, a marred impression, and their impression, at best, is but transient; but the love of Christ is remembered as something that is better than wine. I have to hurry over these different points; but if you enjoy hearing about this subject as much as I delight in preaching upon it, you would not mind listening to me all night long, and I should not mind preaching right through the night. Surely, this is a theme that sets one's tongue at a happy liberty. "My tongue is the pen of a ready writer" if I can but feel the love of Christ shed abroad in my heart.

III. Now, thirdly, I am to speak of THE PRACTICAL EFFECTS OF REMEMBERING CHRIST'S LOVE. If we remember the love of Christ to us, the first practical effect will be that "we shall love him". Can I remember your love to me, O my sweet Lord, and not love you in return? Surely, Dr. Watts was right when he wrote,-

"Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove, With all your quickening powers, Come, shed abroad a Savior's love, And that shall kindle ours."

True is it, O Jesus, that there is no light of love in our hearts except the light of your love! It is the holy fire from your altar that must kindle the incense in the 'censer of our hearts'. There is no living water to be drawn out of these dry wells- you, O Jesus, must supply them from the bubbling spring in your own heart! When my heart is conscious of your love, it loves you in return. Another practical effect of remembering Christ's love will be, "love to the brethren". When we remember Christ's love as we ought, we shall not meet one of Christ's brethren without falling in love with him directly. Christ has some very poor brethren, and some very unhandsome ones. David sent to enquire whether there were any left of the house of Saul to whom he might show kindness for Jonathan's sake. Ziba told him that Jonathan had a son named Mephibosheth, who was lame on his feet. What did David do when he heard this? Did he say, "I will have nothing to do with him; I do not want a lame fellow like that stumbling about my palace "? Oh, no! he might be lame on his feet, but he was Jonathan's son; so David sent for him, and said to him, "You shall eat bread at my table continually." Did you ever know one of Christ's beloved who was lame on his feet? There is a little lameness, somewhere or other, about all of them; and if we only love those saints who are very holy, it will seem as if we only loved them for their own sakes; but if we love Christ's deformed and crippled children, that looks like loving them for his sake. And, methinks, if you could remember what a clumsy child YOU were yourself, you would not look with such disdain upon any of God's other children. Ministers have much to bear in connection with some of their people. One man's judgment is so keen that you are always afraid of saying something amiss in his presence; another man's temper is so hot that you cannot meddle with him for do not fear should provoke a quarrel; another man is so worldly that, although he has the grace of God in his heart, it seems to be only like a spark in damp tinder. Christ has many very unseemly children; yet if we can but see that they are Christ's, if they have only a little likeness to him, we love them directly for his sake, and are, willing to do what we can for them out of love to him. The remembrance of the love of Christ to us will, I repeat, always kindle in us a love towards all the brethren. The next effect will be, "holy practice". When we remember the love of Christ to us, we shall hate sin. Feeling that he has bought us with his precious blood, we shall abhor the very name of iniquity. When Satan tempts us, we shall each one say, "Get gone; for I will have nothing to do with you; I remember Christ's love to me." Have you never heard the story of the Indian woman, who, when she was enticed by some great chief, who wished to lead her astray made to him this noble answer, "I know no one in the world to be beautiful or attractive but my husband"? So will the believer say, when he is tempted, "I know of nothing that is good but Christ; I know of no one who is so fair as he is; so begone, black Satan, my heart is given wholly to Christ, and I will have nothing to do with you." Another effect of remembering the love of Christ will be, "repose of heart in time of trouble". When we have, for a while, lost the light of God's countenance; when we are like the apostle in that great storm at sea, and are in a place where two seas meet, and our vessel is already broken by the violence of the waves. When darkness increases our fears, or daylight reveals fresh dangers, then is it specially sweet to remember the love of our Lord. In such a time as that, the tried believer can say, "He did love me once, and his love never changes. Though I cannot now see the light of his countenance, I know that he is still the same as he ever was. I remember the garden of delights where he revealed his love to me, and the banqueting house where he gave me such choice fare; and I feel persuaded that he has not forgotten his poor spouse, but that he will come to her again, and once more lift her out of the mire, set her feet upon a rock, put a new song into her mouth, and establish her goings." A constant remembrance of Christ's love to us will make us always cheerful, dutiful, holy. Dear Lord, grant us this boon; for if you will enable us to remember your love more than wine, you will give us all good things in one. Let your good Spirit but keep us up to this good resolution, and we shall be both holy and happy, honoring you and rejoicing in you.

IV. Lastly, I would put before you A FEW PRACTICAL SUGGESTIONS AS TO PRESERVING A DEEPER AND MORE SINCERE REMEMBRANCE OF CHRISTS LOVE than you have hitherto done. The old Puritanical divines frequently compared their hearers to the Egyptian dog that ran to the Nile, and drank, and then ran away; they came up to the meeting-house, and heard the minister, took a little sip of the gospel, which sufficed them, and then they were off. One preacher said that he wished they were like the fishes; not come and lap at the stream, as the dog did; but swim in it, and live in it. There are too many, in this age, who are content with hearing a little of Christ's love; a sip by the way is all that they seem to need. But it would be far better if you could come up to Rutherford's ideal, "I would have my soul sunk over its masthead in a sea of love to Christ. I would be sunken fifty fathoms deep in the mighty shoreless ocean of his love, so that there might be nothing left of me, and that I might be swallowed up in love to Christ, and in Christ's love to me." I expect, dear brethren and sisters that your complaint is that you cannot recollect good things as you sincerely would. I know very well how you feel. You hear a sermon, and become, for a while, absorbed in holy meditation; but you have to return to your shop early tomorrow morning, and you only quitted it as late as twelve o'clock on Saturday night. There are six days for the world, and only one for heaven; it is no wonder that you find the sermon so difficult to remember. You remind me of a person going out into a garden, on a dark night, carrying a lighted candle. If the wind should blow, there is such a careful shielding of the light with the hand, lest it should be blown out. In like manner, it is but a feeble light that you bear away from the public ministry, and there are ten thousand winds blowing around you, and trying to put it out. You must indeed be careful to keep it alight all the week in your recollection. Let me give you a little practical advice as to how you may keep constantly in your mind a remembrance of Jesus Christ's love. One of the first things I would recommend to you is, "frequent meditation". See if you cannot more often get a quarter of an hour all alone, that you may sit down, and turn over and over again the love of Christ to you. Remember that souls grow more by meditation than by anything else. The cattle go round the fields, and crop the grass; that is like hearing the Word. But, afterwards, they lie down in a quiet corner, and chew the cud; that is like meditating upon what we have heard. Get a quarter of an hour, if you can, to masticate and digest the Word. "A quarter of an hour!" says someone; "why, I could not get five minutes!" I would not be hard with you, dear brother, but I do you think could; days can sometimes be lengthened out, either at one end or at the other. If you cannot extend the day at the night end, cannot you pull it out at the morning end? Is there not a possibility of a little saving of time at some hour during the day? You will do none the less work for allowing time for meditation and prayer. Our old proverb says, "Prayer and provender hinder no man's journey;" and I believe that prayer and meditation hinder no man's work. Do try to get a little time to think about your soul. What, so much time to be occupied with this dusty, sinful world, and so little time to be devoted to that which relates to heaven! So much time to be employed concerning food, and drink, and clothes, and so little time to be given to thoughts of our precious Savior and all his loveliness! Do get a little time alone, beloved, for that will help to keep you right. You would not forget your Master's love nearly as much as you presently do, if you would secure more time for meditation upon it. Another means of remembering Christ's love is this. "Take care that you are not content with what you knew of Christ's love yesterday". You want to know a little more about it today, and you ought to know still more about it tomorrow. Some Christians do not commune with their Lord nearly as often as they ought; I wonder how they manage to live on in such a fashion. They get a little manna once a month, and they try to live on that until another month comes round. They meet with their Savior, perhaps, at the communion table, -and not always then, -and they are content to live from day to day without having fellowship with him. Do not be one of that order of Christians. Seek for daily-no, more than that, -continual communion with the Lord Jesus Christ. You are to pray for daily bread; then, surely, he who bade you do that must mean that you should seek to be fed daily with himself, who is the Bread of heaven. I do not like to hear people talk about what they knew of Jesus five or six years ago, unless they can also tell something of what they know of him now. What would you think of a wife who said, "My husband spoke kindly to me some years ago; and I saw him five years ago, but I have not seen him since"? You would say, "How can the woman live, if she is a loving wife, without seeing her husband? Is he in the same house with her, and yet has he not spoken to her all that while?" The Lord Jesus is always near to you, and do you mean to say that you can live without fellowship with him? You, you can, for some of you do; but I beg you not to live so any longer, for it is a poor, starving way of dragging on a miserable existence. You who have just enough religion to make you wretched; you have not enough to make you happy- get a great deal more of it. Drink deeply at the heavenly spring of fellowship. If you learn a little more about Christ every day, you will not be likely to forget what you already know of him. Then, again, as another way of keeping in your heart what you do know- take care, when you have a sense of Christ's love, that you let it go down deeply. If there were a nail so placed that it would slacken its hold a little every day for six days- if I had the opportunity of driving it in the first day, I would try to drive it in right up to the head, and to clinch it. So, if you have not much time for fellowship and communion with Christ, if you have only a short season for meditation, try to drive the nail well home. Do not be content with merely thinking about Christ, seek to see him before your eyes as 'manifestly crucified'. See him as he groans in the garden, and do not be content unless you can groan with him. See him as he hangs upon the cross, and do not rest satisfied until you can feel that you are crucified with him. Realize your fellowship with him as he rises from the tomb, for this will help very much to keep you right. I have heard the story of a man, who was passing by a house where a poor idiot lad, with a piece of sandpaper, was scouring away at a brass plate. The man asked what he was doing, and he replied, "I am trying to scour the name out." "Ah!" said the other, "you may scour away as long as you like, but you will never be able to do that." And so, methinks, I see the devil scouring away at some of you, trying to get the name of Jesus out of your heart. Scour away, Satan, if you like; but you will never get it out, for it is too deeply cut. If Christ's name is engraved upon your heart, Satan may try to get it out, but he will never succeed in doing so; it shall never be obliterated, but shall shine all the more brightly for his attempts to remove it. Let me add one more direction. When any of you meet together, it is always a good thing to make Christ the theme of your conversation. Oh, what a deal of idle gossip there is even on Sundays. Many people do not go out on Sunday afternoon, so they must talk about something. They do not like to talk about their trade; that would be too secular, they fancy. They do not like to talk about strictly sacred things; that might appear hypocritical, they think. So they begin, "Have you ever heard so-and-so preach?" "Yes, I did once." "Did you like him?" So, from one, they go on to others, and ministers and their sermons become the bones that they pick on Sunday afternoons. They feel that they must have some theme for their conversation not quite sacred, nor wholly secular. I would advise you to talk more about the Lord Jesus Christ than you have been wont to do; you will be less likely to forget his love if you are often talking of him. Let the music of his name ring in your ears all the day long; and if you would have it ring in your ears, it must ring from your tongue. Whenever you have the opportunity, tell out the marvelous story of his great love to you; so will your own memory be refreshed, and others, listening to your testimony, will also get a large, and, it may be, an everlasting blessing. May God now grant to you, my dear hearers, that you may retain a sense of Christ's love to you, if you have ever enjoyed it! If you never have, may God now give it to you! If you have never come to Christ, come to him now. Remember that Jesus loves sinners. Those who are now farthest from him, when they once return to him, shall know that he loves them. If you "take with you words," and come unto him, groaning and sighing, he will not cast you out. He stands now with open arms, and freely invites you. Come to him, I beseech you. As his ambassador, I entreat you to come; if you do so, he will fold you to his bosom. All that the heirs of heaven can have, you shall have. All that the glorified saints are now enjoying shall yet be your privilege also. You shall one day walk with Christ in white, and see his face, and be with him in Paradise, and be blessed throughout eternity. May God grant us his grace now, that our text may become the cheerful sonnet of our experience, "We will remember your love more than wine."

Verse 6

Two Sermons: Self-Humbling and Self-Searching and The Unkept Vineyard; Or, Personal Work Neglected

Self-Humbling and Self-Searching

by C. H. SPURGEON (1834-1892)

"Look not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me: my mother's children were angry with me, they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I not kept." Song of Song of Solomon 1:6 .

Whence do I draw my text but from the very fountain of love? And to whom shall I address my discourse but to the friends of the bridegroom? Ye must have warm hearts, quick sensibilities, lively emotions to interpret the sayings and sympathize the tender notes of this most sacred song. I suppose that the history of the statues in St. Paul's Cathedral, from year to year, would not be remarkably interesting. They are placed upon their pedestals; they stand there quietly; and unless some terrible convulsion should occur, probably that will be the whole of their history for many years to come, as it has been for many years past. During the time in which any one of those statues has stood there, however, the history of any one human person has been checkered with all sorts of incidents, happy and sorrowful. Aches and pains, joys and rejoicings' depressions and exultations, have alternated in the living; but in the cold marble there has been no such change. Many of you in this house know little of what are the experiences of God's people. If you hear of their anxieties and encouragements, their temptations and deliverances, their inward conflicts and spiritual triumphs, their gloomy depressions and cheerful exultations all those things seem to you as an idle tale. The living, the living, shall know the secret; but unto the mere professor this thing is not revealed. My subject, which will be mainly addressed to God's working people to such as are really serving him will appear to have very little bearing upon any here present who do not understand the spiritual life, and they will probably think that the evening to them is wasted. Just this word on the outset, however, I would drop in your ears. If you do not know anything of spiritual life, what will you do in the end of your natural life? If there be no work of God's Spirit upon your soul, and you are a stranger to the living experience of God's children, what will be your portion for ever? It must be divided to you with the unbelievers. Are you prepared to receive it? Are you willing that this should be your eternal destiny? Are you not, rather, alarmed? Are you not made anxious and desirous if by any means you may pass into that better, truer, state of life? Considering its boundless interests, notwithstanding all the present struggles and sorrows it may entail on you, do you not wish to know and prove what spiritual life means? I pray God you may. Let me remind you that the gospel preached to you is still available for your quickening; and whosoever believeth in Christ Jesus is born of God, and is possessor of that spiritual life. Now, in conducting the people of God to a special survey of our text, "Look not upon me, because I am black," our first remark shall be this: the fairest Christians are the most shamefaced with regard to themselves. The person who says, "Look not upon me, because I am black," is described by some one else in the eighth verse as the "fairest among women." Others, who thought her the fairest of the fair, spoke no less than the truth when they affirmed it; but in her own esteem she felt herself to be so little fair, and so much uncomely, that she besought them not even to look upon her. Why is it that the best Christians depreciate themselves the most? Is it not because they are most accustomed to look within? They keep their books in a better condition than those unsafe tradesmen, the counterpart of mere professors, who think themselves "rich and increased in goods," when they are on the very verge of bankruptcy. The Christian in his right state tests himself to see whether he be in the faith. He values too much his own soul to go on blindly. He knows that Heedless and Toobold are always bad pilots, so he sets Caution and Self-examination at the helm. He cries to God, "Search me, and know my heart." He is accustomed to examine his actions and his motives to pass his words and his thoughts in review. He does not live the life of one who goes recklessly on; but he stops and considers his ways; and looks well to the state of everything within him "to have always a conscience void of offense toward God and toward men." Solomon says, "The wise man looks to the state of his flocks and his herds;" and it is no marvel if any one suffer loss who neglects the counsel. But he also says, "Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life;" and it is quite certain that he who fails in this exercise is liable to every kind of moral disorder. In his anxiety to be pure from evil, the godly man will be eager to notice and quick to detect the least particle of defilement; and for this reason he discovers more of his blackness than any other man is likely to see. He is no blacker, but he looks more narrowly, and therefore he sees more distinctly the spots on his own character. The genuine Christian, also, tries himself by a higher standard. The professor, if he be as good as another professor, is well content. He estimates himself by a comparison with his neighbors. He has no standard but that of ordinary commonplace Christianity. Par otherwise is it with the believer who walks near to God; he asks himself "What manner of persons ought we to be, in all holy conversation and godliness?" He knows the law to be spiritual, and therefore he judges many things to be sinful which others wink at; and he counts some things to be important duties which others regard as trifles. The genuine Christian sets up no lower standard than perfection. He does not judge himself by others, but by the exact measure of the divine requirements, by the law of God, and especially by the example of his Lord and Master; and when he thus sets the brightness of the Savior's character side by side with his own, then it is that he cries out, "Look not upon me, for I am black." The mere professor never does this: he neither scrutinises himself nor observes his Master with close heed and strained attention, desiring to ascertain the truth; but he flatters himself in his own eyes, and goes on presumptuously. Not so the genuine Christian; he hides his face, sighs in secret, and cries before God, because he is not what he wants to be; not what his Lord was; not fully conformed to Christ in all things; and just because these short-comings grieve and vex his righteous soul, he cries, "Look not upon me, for I am black." All the while he may be of the highest type of Christian, yet he is not so in his own esteem. He may be a star to others, but he is a blot, as he thinks, to himself. In God's esteem he is "accepted in the Beloved," but in his own esteem he seems to himself to be full of all manner of evil, and he cries out against it before his Lord. Another reason why the fairest Christ are generally those that think themselves the blackest, is that they have more light. A person may seem to be very fair in the dark, very fair in the twilight; but when the light gets strong, and the eye is strengthened to perceive, then it is that spots that were not noticed before are soon discovered. You have, perhaps, a handkerchief that has looked to you extremely white; so it has been in comparison with other linen: but one day, when there has been a fall of snow, you have laid your handkerchief side by side with the snow, and you have seen that it was very far from the whiteness which you imagined. When the light of God comes into the soul, and we see what purity really is, what holiness really is, then it is the contrast strikes us. Though we might have thought we were somewhat clean before, when we see God in his light we see light, and we abhor ourselves in dust and ashes. Our defects so appall our own heart, that we marvel they do not exhaust his patience. The better Christ a man is, the more abashed he always feels; because to him sin is so exceedingly hateful, that what sin he sees in himself he loathes himself for far more than others do. The ungodly man would condone very great sin in himself; though he might know it to be there; it would not disturb him; but the Christian being another sort, having a love for holiness and a hatred for sin, cannot bear to see the smallest speck of sin upon himself: He knows what it is. There are persons living before the public eye, and jealous of popularity, who appear quite indifferent to the good opinion of the sovereign in whose kingdom they dwell there are other persons favourites at court, who would lie awake at night tossed to and fro in fear if they thought that something had been reported to the sovereign's ear that was disloyal. A man who fears not God, will break all his laws with an easy conscience, but one who is the favorite of heaven, who has been indulged to sit at royal banquets, who knows the eternal love of God to him, cannot bear that there should be any evil way in him that might grieve the Spirit and bring dishonor to the name of Christ. A very little sin, as the world calls it, is a very great sin to a truly awakened Christian. I will ask you now, dear hearers (most of on are members of this or of other churches), do you know what it is to fret because you have spoken an unadvised word? Do you know what it is to smite upon your breast, because you were angry? justly provoked, perhaps, but still, being angry, you spoke unadvisedly. Have you ever gone to a sleepless couch, because in business you have let fall a word, or have done an action which, upon mature deliberation, you could not justify? Does the tear never come from your eye because you are not like your Lord, and have failed where you hoped to succeed? I would give little for your godliness, if you know nothing of this. Repentance is as much a mark of a Christian as faith itself. Do not think we have done with repenting when we come to Christ and receive the remission of our sins by the blood that did once atone. No; we shall repent as long as we sin, and as long as we need the precious blood for cleansing. While there is sin, or a proneness to any kind of sin, lurking in us, the grace of God will make us loathe the sin and humble ourselves before the Most High on account of it. Now, I think our text seems to say just this: there were some that admired the church. They said she was fair. She seemed to say, "Don't say it; you don't know what I am, or you would not praise me." Oh, there is nothing that brings a blush to a genuine Christian's face like praising him; for he feels "Praise such a heap of dirt as I am? Give any credit to such a worthless worm as I am? No; do not cast admiring glances at me! Do not say, 'That man has many virtues and many excellences!' 'Look not upon me, for I am black.'" Are there not some who will imitate any Christian and be very right in so doing any Christian who is eminently godly and holy? There will be many who will follow in his footsteps. I think I see such a man turn round to his followers, and say: "Do not look at me; do not copy me. I am black. Copy a better model even Jesus. If I follow in his footsteps, follow me; but inasmuch as I have gone astray like a lost sheep, follow the shepherd; do not follow my example." Every Christian, in proportion as he lives near to God, will feel this self-abasement, this lowliness of heart; and if others talk of admiring or of imitating him, he will say, "Look not upon me, for I am black." And as he thus, in deep humility, begs that he be not exalted, he will often desire others that they would not despise him. It will come into his mind, "Such-and-such a man of God is a Christian indeed; as he sees my weakness, he will contemn me. Such-and-such a disciple of Christ is strong; he will never be able to bear with my weakness. Such-and-such a Christian woman does, indeed, adorn the doctrine of God her Savior; but as for me, alas! I am not what I ought to be, nor what I would be. Christ of God, do not look upon me with scorn. I will not say that you have motes in your own eyes. I have a beam in mine. Look not upon me too severely. Judge me not harshly. If you do look at me, look to Christ for me, and pray that I may be helped; 'for I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me.'" Still I would have you beware of affecting aught that you do not feel. Humility itself may be counterfeited with much ostentation. Wherever there is anything like cant, as it is practiced by some people who depreciate themselves but do not mean it, it is loathsome to the last degree. I recollect a very proud man, certainly twice as proud as he was high, who used to pray for himself as "God's poor dust." There was nothing, I am sure, about his conduct and conversation that entitled him to use any such expression. I have heard of a monk who said he was full of sin he was as bad as Judas; and when somebody said, "That is true," he turned round, and said, "What did I ever do that you should say so?" The effrontery of the arrogant is not more odious than the servility of the sycophant. There is a great deal of self-abnegation which is not genuine; it is the offspring of self-conceit, and not of self-knowledge. Much that we say of ourselves would mightily offend our vainglory if anybody else said the same of us. Oh, let us beware of mock humility! At the same time, the more of the genuine article we have the better, and the more truthfully we can cry out to God's people, "Look not upon me, because I am black," the more clear will it be that we are, after all, amongst the fairest. But I pass on. The most diligent Christian let this stand for the second observation the most diligent Christian will be the man most afraid of the evils connected with his work. "Evils connected with his work!" says one. "Does work for God have evils contingent upon it?" Yes; but for every evil connected with the work of God, there are ten evils connected with idleness. Nay, all you professors who are doing, nothing, are wearing yourselves out faster by rust than you could have done by honest wear. But, you see, in the case of our text, there was evil connected with work. She had been made a keeper of the vineyards, and having to trim the vines, the sun had shone upon her; and she says, "Look not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me." The blackness that she confessed was a blackness occasioned by her having to bear the burden and heat of the day. And now I speak to such as live in active service, doing the work of God. Dear brethren, there are certain evils connected with our lifework coming of the sun that looks upon us, which we should confess before our heavenly Father. I speak now only to the workers. I have known some whom the sun has looked upon in this respect; their zeal has grown cold through non-success. You went out, first of all, as a Christian, full of fire and life. You intended to push the church before you, and drag the world after you. Peradventure you thought that you were going to work a Reformation almost as great as that of Luther. Well, much of that was of the flesh, though beneath the surface there was an earnest zeal for God which was eating you up. But you have been mixed up with Christians for some years of a very cool sort. Use the thermometer to-night. Has not the spiritual temperature gone down in your own soul? Perhaps you have not seen many conversions under your ministry? or in the class which you conduct you have not seen many children brought to Jesus? Do you feel you are getting cool? Then wrap your face in your mantle to-night! and say: "Look not upon me, for in losing my zeal I am black, for the sun hath looked upon me." Perhaps it has affected you in another way, for the sun does not bring freckles out on all faces in the same place. Perhaps it is your temper that is grown sour? When you joined the church you felt all love, and you expected, as you had a right to do, that everybody would reciprocate the same feeling; it may be that since then you have had to do battle against contentions. You have been in a part of the church where there has been a strife, not altogether for the faith once delivered to the saints, but something of a party feeling was mixed with it, and you have had to take some share in it. And perhaps you have gradually acquired a carping, critical habit, so that where you used to enjoy the word, you are now all for judging the preacher. You are not so much a feeder upon the word, as a mere taster of the dishes, to see if you cannot find some fault with their flavour. Wrap your face again, I beseech you, in your mantle. Again bow before God, and say: "Look not upon me, because I am black; the sun hath looked upon me. In my service for God I have been impaired." Perhaps, dear friend, you have suffered in another way! I sometimes suffer in this respect very materially. The Christian's walk ought to be calm, peaceful, quiet, unruffled. Leaving everything with the Lord, and waiting his will, our peace should be like a river. But you know that, when there is much to be done in God's service, there is a very strong temptation to want to push this and that thing forward with undue haste. Or if it does not move quickly at the rate you would wish, there is a temptation to be sad, careful, and anxious; to be, in fact, like Martha, cumbered with much service. When you get into that condition it is an injury to yourself and really prejudicial to your own work; for they serve Christ best who commune with him most, and broken fellowship means broken strength. Yet this is often our trouble; our energies are exhausted by worry more than by work. Part of our duty is neglected through unexpected cares that have distracted our thoughts. Pardon me, if I transfer the thing to myself in a figure. Say that this Tabernacle wants all my vigilance concentrated upon its welfare. Then there is another matter that wants instant attention at the same time. Here is a soul seeking Christ; here is another backsliding; here is a brother falling to ears with a brother. Innumerable things crowd upon one's view and clamor for immediate investigation till one gets disturbed and troubled. "Look not upon me, because I am black; because the sun hath looked upon me. The work I have engaged in for thee hath brought me into the sun, and burnt my face." It ought to be bright and fair with fellowship; it is soiled and begrimed with service. Sometimes this evil of sun-burning will come in the shape of joy taken away from the heart by weariness. I do not think, dear brethren, any of us are weary of God's work. If so, we never were called to it. But we may get weary in it. You recollect, some of you here I speak to such as often preach the gospel how happy you were when first you were permitted to open your mouth for Christ! Oh, what a joy it was! What a pleasure! How you threw your whole soul into it! There was no sleepiness and dulness in your sermon then. But now, year after year, year after year, your brain gets weary, and though the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak; the joy you once had in the service was your strength, and it has some what gone from you. The toil is more irksome when the spirits are less buoyant. Well, I would advise you to confess this before God, and ask for a medicine to heal you. You had need get your joy back, but first you must acknowledge that you have lost it. Say, "I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me." On the other hand, it is a bad result of a good work when our humility is injured thereby. Place a Christian man in a position where he has to do much for Christ, and is much thought of and set by: let him have great success: and the tendency will be for him to compliment himself as though he were some great one. You cannot reap great sheaves for the Master without this temptation coming over your soul. What a glorious workman you are, and what a great reward will your soul have for having done so well! It is the sun looking upon you; taking away the fairness of your humility, freckling and blackening your face with a pride that is obnoxious to God. This ought to be confessed at once and heartily repented of. I do not think I shall attempt to go through the list of all the matters that might come out of Christian service. It will suffice me to say, I am afraid that in many cases our motives get mixed. Pure and simple at first in our service, we may get at last to serve Christ only because it is our office to do so. Woe to the man that preaches only because he is a minister, and does not preach because he loves Christ! We may get also to be self-reliant. It is a great mercy for God's ministers when they tremble on going into the pulpit, even though they have been accustomed to preach for twenty years. Martin Luther declares that he never feared the face of man; and all who knew him could bear witness that it was even so; yet he said he never went up the stairs of the pulpit at Wittenburg but he felt his knees knock together with fear lest he should not be faithful to God and his truth. When we begin to rely upon ourselves' and think we can do it, and our experience and our practice will suffice to bear us safely through the next discourse without help from on high, then the sun has looked upon us, and blackened our face indeed, and the time of our usefulness draws to a close. Come, Christian people, brethren and sisters, thankful though I am that I can address so large a number who are engaged in the Master's work, I beseech you, let us go together to the footstool of the heavenly grace, confess there our blackness, and own that much of it has come upon us even while we were engaged in the service of God. In the third place, the most watchful Christian is conscious of the danger of self-neglect. That is the next part of our text. "they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I not kept." Solemnly, let me speak again to my brethren who are seeking to glorify Christ by their lives. I met some time ago with a sermon by that famous divine, Mr. Henry Melvill, which consists all through of one solitary thought, and one only image well worked out. I will give you the pith of what took some eight pages to get through. He supposes a man to be a guide in Switzerland. It is his duty to conduct travelers in that country through the sublime passes, and to point out to them the glories of the scenery, and the beauties of the lakes, and streams, and glaciers, and hills. This man, as he continues in his office, almost inevitably gets to repeat his descriptions as a matter of course; and everybody knows how a guide at last comes to "talk book," and just iterate words which do not awaken any corresponding feeling in his own mind. Yet when he began, perhaps it was a sincere love of the sublime and the beautiful that led him to take up the avocation of a guide; and at first it really was to him a luxury to impart to others what he had felt amidst the glories of nature; but as, year after year, to hundreds of different parties, he had to repeat much the same descriptions, call attention to the same sublimities, and indicate the same beauties, it is almost impossible but that he should get to be at last a mere machine. Through the hardening tendency of custom, and the debasing influence of gain, his aptest descriptions and most exquisite eulogies come to be of no greater account than the mere language of a hireling. This thought I will not work out in extenso as that famous preacher has done, but I give it to you as a cutting, which may germinate if planted in the garden of your heart. Every worker for Christ is deeply concerned in the application of this parable; because the peril of self complacency increases in precisely the same ratio as the zeal of proselytising. When counselling others, you think yourself wise. When warning others, you feel yourself safe. When judging others, you suppose yourself above suspicion. You began the work with a flush of ardor; it may be with a fever of enthusiasm; a sacred instinct prompted, a glowing passion moved you. How will you continue it? Here is the danger the fearful danger lest you do it mechanically, fall into a monotony, continue in the same train, and use holy words to others with no corresponding feeling in your own soul. May we not stir others up to devout emotions, and yet our own hearts fail to burn with the sacred fire? Oh, may it not be easy for one to stand as a signpost on the road to heaven, and never stir himself? Every preacher who judges himself aright knows that this is the risk he incurs; and I believe the same danger in a measure threatens Christ in every form of work in which they occupy themselves for Christ. Dear friends, beware of reading the Bible for other people. Get your own text your own morsel of marrow and fatness out of Scripture; and do not be satisfied to be sermon-making or lesson-making for your class in the Sunday-school. Feed on the word yourselves, or else your own vineyard will not be kept. When you are on your knees in prayer, pray for others by all means; but, oh, let private prayer be kept up with a view to your own edification and your own growth in grace as well. Preach not the Savior's blood, and yet be without the blood mark on yourselves. Tell not of the fountain, and yet go unwashed. Do not point to heaven, and then turn your back to it and go down to hell. Fellow-workers, look to yourselves, lest after having preached to others ye yourselves should be cast away. Your neighbors certainly, but yourselves also; the children in your class certainly, your own children at home certainly, but look to yourselves also, oh, ye that are workers in God's house, lest ye keep the vineyards of others and your own vineyards be not kept. It is very possible for a man to get to dislike the very religion which he feels bound still by force of custom to go on teaching to others. "Is that possible?" says one. Alas! that it is. Have you never heard of the flower-girl in the streets? What is her occupation! I dare say some girls like her have passed by and seen her with a great basket full of violets, and said: "What a delightful occupation, to have that fragrant smell for ever near to one!" Yes, but there was one girl who sold them, and said she hated the smell of violets. She had got to loathe them, and to think that there was no smell in the world so offensive, because they were always under her nostrils all day, and taken home to her little scanty room at night, and having nothing but violets around her, she hated them altogether. And I do believe that there are persons without the grace of Christ in their hearts who keep on talking about grace, and mercy, and practicing prayer, and yet in their heart of hearts they hate the very fragrance of the name of Jesus, and need that there should come upon them an awakening out of their sleep of presumption and hypocrisy, to make them know that though they thought they were the friends of God, they were, after all, his enemies. They were mere keepers of other men's vineyards, but their own vineyards had gone to ruin. Our last reflection is of the deepest importance. The most conscientious Christian will be the first to enquire for the antidote, and to use the cure. What is the cure? The cure is found in the verse next to my text. "Look not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me. They made me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I not kept." What next? "Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where thou makest thy flock to rest at noon: for why should I be as one that turneth aside by the flocks of thy companions?" See, then, you workers, if you want to keep up your freshness, and not to get blackened by the sun under which you labor, go to your Lord again go and talk to him. Address him again by that dear name, "Thou whom my soul loveth." Ask to have your first love rekindled; strive after the love of your espousals. There are men in married life who seem to have forgotten that they ever loved their wives; but there are others concerning whom the hymn is true

"And as year rolls after year, Each to other still more dear."

So there are some Christians who seem to forget that they ever loved the Savior; but I trow there are others in whom that love deepens and becomes more fervent as each year passes over their heads. If any of you are at fault in this, do not give sleep to your eyelids to-night till you have renewed your espousal love. Thy Lord recollects it, if thou dost not, for he says: "I remember thee, the kindness of thy youth, the love of thine espousals, when thou wentest after me in the wilderness, in a land that was not sown." You did some wild things in those early days. You were a great deal more zealous than wise; but, though you look back upon that with censure, Christ regards it with delight. He wishes you were now as you were then. Perhaps to-day you are not quite cold to him. Do not flatter yourself on that account; for he has said, "I would thou wert cold or hot." It is just lukewarmness that he loathes most of all, and he has threatened to spue the lukewarm out of his mouth. Oh, to be always full of love to him! You will never get any hurt by working for him then; your work will do you good. The sweat of labor will even make your face the fairer. The more you do for souls, the purer, and the holier, and the more Christ will you be, if you do it with him. Keep up the habit of sitting at his feet, like Mary, as well as serving him with Martha. You can keep the two together; they will balance each other, and you shall not be barren or unfruitful, neither shall you fall into the blackness which the sun is apt to breed. O for more nearness to Christ, more love to Christ, and closer communion with him! Did you notice what the spouse said: "Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest?" I suppose her object was to go and feed with him. Look to the feeding of your own soul, Christian. When a man says, "I have a hard day's work to do, I shall have no time to eat," you know full well that he is losing time where he thinks he gains it; for if he does not keep himself in good repair he will sicken by-and-by, and in the long run he will do less than if he gave himself due pause. So is it with your soul. You cannot give out a vital energy which you have not got in you healthy and vigorous; and if you have not got power from God in your own soul, power cannot come out of you, for it is not there. Do, therefore, feed upon Christ. Or do you feel yourself like that guide of whom we spoke just now? Has the routine of service blunted your sensibilities, till you gaze unmoved on those objects of beauty and marvel that should awaken every passion and thrill every nerve of your being? Ask then in what way he might keep up his interest in the lakes and the mountains? Would it not be well for him, occasionally, at any rate, to take a lonely journey to find out new features in the gorgeous scenery or to stand in solitude, and see the hills in a fresh light, or mark the forest trees in different states of the weather; so that he might again renew his own sensations of admiration, and of gratitude to God for having created such sublimities? Then I can readily believe his enthusiasm would increase rather than abate by an increasing familiarity with the landscape. And you, worker for God, you must go to God alone; feed on precious truth for yourself; dig into the deep things of God and enrich your own spirit. Thus you may serve God as much as ever you will: you will get no hurt therefrom. Did you notice that she also asked: "Tell me where thou makest thy flock to rest at noon?" Rest is what the worker wants. Where is the rest of Christ's flock but in his own dear bosom? Where is there repose, but in his own fidelity, in the two immutable things wherein it is impossible for God to lie the oath and the promise? Oh, never turn away from that rest! Turn into it again, to-night, beloved. As for me, I feel I want my Savior more than ever I did. Though I have preached his gospel now these five-and-twenty years and more, I need still to come and cling to his cross as a guilty sinner, and find "life for a look at the crucified One," just as I did at first. O that God's grace may ever keep the most ardent among us always faithful with our own soul, abiding in the Lord, and rejoicing in him! I have done. This is my word to workers. Let me only say to you for whom there has seemed nothing in the sermon, if you are not workers for Christ, you are workers against him. "He that is not with me is against me; and he that gathereth not with me scattereth abroad." O souls, why should you stand out against the Savior? Why should you resist him? Bleeding out his life for his enemies, the mirror of disinterested love, what is there in him that can make you fight against him? Drop your weapons, man! Drop them to-night, I charge you by the living God! And come now, ask pardon through the precious blood, and it shall be given you. Seek a new heart, and a right spirit. The Holy Ghost will work it. From this night be a worker for Christ. The church wants you. The armies of Christ need recruiting. Take the proffered blessing, and become a soldier of the cross; and may the Lord build up his Zion by many of you who were not his people aforetime, but of whom it is said: "They were not my people, but they shall be the people of the living God."

The Unkept Vineyard; Or, Personal Work Neglected

September 19, 1886 by C. H. SPURGEON (1834-1892)

"They made me the keeper of the vineyards; but my own vineyard have I not kept." Song of Song of Solomon 1:6 .

The text is spoken in the first person singular; "They made me." Therefore let the preaching tonight be personal to you, dear friends- personal to the preacher first, and then to each one of this mixed multitude. May we at this hour think less of others than of ourselves! May the sermon be of practical value to our own hearts! I do not suppose that it will be a pleasing sermon- on the other hand it may be a saddening one. I may bring unhappy memories before you; but let us not be afraid of that holy sorrow which is health to the soul. Since the spouse in this text speaks of herself, "They made ME the keeper of the vineyards; but MY own vineyard have I not kept" -let each one of us copy her example, and think only of our own selves. The text is the language of "complaint". We are all pretty ready at complaining, especially of other people. Not much good comes of picking holes in other men's characters; and yet many spend hours in that unprofitable occupation. It will be well for us, at this time, to let our complaint, like that of the text, deal with ourselves. If there is something wrong at home, let the father blame himself; if there is something ill with the children, let the mother look to her own personal conduct as their instructor. Do not let us lend out our ears, but let us keep them at home for our own use. Let us clear out an open passage to the heart, so that everything that is said shall go down into the spirit, and purify our inner man. Let us from the heart make the confession "they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but my own vineyard have I not kept." Let us make the text "practical". Do not let us be satisfied to have uttered the language of complaint; but let us get rid of the evils which we deplore. If we have been wrong, let us labor to be right. If we have neglected our own vineyard, let us confess it with due humiliation; but let us not continue to neglect it. Let us ask of God that holy results may flow out of our self-lamentations, so that before many days we may begin to keep our own vineyards carefully by the grace of God; and then we shall better carry out the office of keeper of the vineyards of others, if we are called to such an employment. There are two things upon which I am going to dwell at this time. The first is, that there are many Christian people I hope they are Christian people who will be compelled to confess that the greater part of their life is spent in labor which is not of the highest kind, and is not properly their own. I shall find out the worker who has forgotten his heavenly calling. And when I have done with this case and I am afraid that there will be much about it that may touch many of us I shall then take a more general view, and deal with any who are undertaking other works, and neglecting their own proper vocation.

I. First, then, let me begin with THE CHRISTIAN MAN WHO HAS FORGOTTEN HIS HIGH AND HEAVENLY CALLING.

In the day when you and I were born again, my brethren, we were born for God. In the day when we saw that Christ died for us, we were bound henceforth to be dead to the world. In the day when we were quickened by the Holy Spirit into newness of life, that life was bound to be a consecrated one. For a thousand reasons it is true that, "You are not your own: you are bought with a price." The ideal Christian is one who has been made alive with a life which he lives for God. He has risen out of the dominion of the world, the flesh, and the devil. He reckons that "if one died for all, then were all dead: and that he died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live for themselves, but for him who died for them, and rose again." This you will not deny. Christian friends, you admit that you have a high, holy, and heavenly calling! Now let us look back. We have not spent our life idly: we have been forced to be keepers of the vineyards. I hope I am not addressing anybody here who has tried to live without employment and labor of some kind. No, we have worked, and we have worked hard. Most men speak of their wages as "hard-earned," and I believe that in many cases they speak the bare truth. Many hours in the day have to be spent upon our occupations. We wake up in the morning, and think of what we have to do. We go to bed wearied at night by what we have done. This is as it should be, for God did not make us that we might sport and play, like leviathan in the deep. Even in Paradise man was bidden to dress the garden. There is something to be done by each man, and specially by each Christian man. Come back to what I began with. In the day when we were born again, as many of us as are new creatures in Christ Jesus, we began to live to God, and not to ourselves. Have we carried out that life? We have worked, we have even worked hard; but the question comes to us What have we worked for? Who has been our master? With what object have we toiled? Of course, if I have been true to my profession as a Christian, I have lived and worked for God, for Christ, for the kingdom of heaven. But has it been so? And is it so now? Many are working very hard for wealth, which means, of course, for "self", that they may be enriched. Some are working simply for a competence, which means, if it goes no farther, still for "self". Others work for their families, a motive good enough in its way, but still only an enlargement, after all, of "self". To the Christian there must always be a far higher, deeper, purer, truer motive than self in its widest sense; or else the day must come when he will look back upon his life, and say, "They made me the keeper of the vineyards; but my own vineyard" -that is, the service of Christ, the glory of him that bought me with his blood "have I not kept." It seems to me to be a terrible calamity to have to look back on twenty years, and say, "What have I done in all those twenty years for Christ? How much of my energy has been spent in striving to glorify him? I have had talents: how many of those talents have been used for him who gave them to me? I have had wealth, or I have had influence. How much of that money have I spent distinctly for my Lord? How much of that influence have I used for the promotion of his kingdom?" You have been busy with this notion, and that motive, and the other endeavor; but have you lived as you will wish to have lived when you stand at his right hand amid his glories? Have you so acted that you will then judge yourself to have well lived when your Lord and Master shall come to call you to account? Ask yourself, "Am I an earnest laborer together with God, or am I, after all, only a laborious trifler, an industrious doer of nothing, working hard to accomplish no purpose of the sort for which I ought to work, since I ought to live unto my Lord alone?" I invite all my fellow-servants to take a retrospect, and just to see whether they have kept their own vineyards. I suppose that they have worked hard. I only put the question Have they kept their own vineyards? Have they served the Lord in all things? I am half afraid to go a step farther. To a very large degree we have not been true to our own professions: our highest work has been neglected, we have not kept our own vineyards. In looking back, how little time has been spent by us in communion with God! How little a part of our thoughts has been occupied with meditation, contemplation, adoration, and other acts of devotion! How little have we surveyed the beauties of Christ, his person, his work, his sufferings, his glory! We say that it is "heaven below" to commune with Christ; but do we do it? We profess that there is no place like the mercy-seat. How much are we at that mercy-seat? We often say that the Word of God is precious that every page of it glows with a heavenly light. Do we study it? Friends, how much time do you spend upon it? I venture to say that the bulk of Christians spend more time in reading the newspaper than they do in reading the Word of God. I trust that I am too severe in this statement, but I am afraid, greatly afraid, that I am not. The last new book, perhaps the last sentimental story, will win attentive reading; when the divine, mysterious, unutterable depths of heavenly knowledge are disregarded by us. Our Puritan forefathers were strong men, because they lived on the Scriptures. None stood against them in their day, for they fed on good food, whereas their degenerate children are far too fond of unwholesome food. The 'chaff of fiction', and the 'bran of the Quarterlies', are poor substitutes for the 'old corn of Scripture', the 'fine flour of spiritual truth'. Alas, my brethren, too many eat the 'unripe fruit of the vineyards of Satan', and the fruits of the Lord's vines they utterly despise! Think of our neglect of our God, and see whether it is not true that we have treated him very ill. We have been in the shop, we have been on the exchange, we have been at the markets, we have been in the fields, we have been in the public libraries, we have been in the lecture-room, we have been in the forum of debate; but our own closets and studies, our walk with God, and our fellowship with Jesus, we have far too much neglected. Moreover, the vineyard of "holy service" for God we have too much left to go to ruin. I would ask you How about the work your God has called you to do? Men are dying; are you saving them? This great city is like a seething caldron, boiling and bubbling up with infamous iniquity- are we doing anything by way of antidote to the hell-broth concocted in that caldron? Are we indeed a power working towards righteousness? How much good have we done? What have I done to pluck brands from the burning? What have I done to find the lost sheep for whom my Savior laid down his life? Come, put the questions, and answer them honestly! No, do not back out, and say, "I have no ability." I do not fear have more ability than you will give an account of with joy at the last great day. I remember a young man who complained that the little church over which he presided was so small. He said, "I cannot do much good. I have not above two hundred hearers." An older man replied, "Two hundred hearers are a great many to have to give an account of at the last great day." As I came in at yonder door this evening, and looked into these thousands of faces, I could not help trembling. How shall I answer for this solemn charge, for this enormous flock, in that last great day? You have all a flock of some kind, larger or smaller. You have all, as Christian people, somebody for whom you will have to answer. Have you done your Master's work in reference to those entrusted to you? O men and women, have you sought to save others from going down into the pit? You have the divine remedy: have you handed it out to these sick and dying ones? You have the heavenly word which can deliver them from destruction: have you spoken it in their ears, praying all the while that God might bless it to their souls. Might not many a man among you say to himself, "I have been a tailor," or "I have been a shop-keeper," or "I have been a mechanic," or "I have been a merchant," or "I have been a physician, and I have attended to these callings; but my own vineyard, which was my Master's, which I was bound to look to first of all, I have not kept?" Well, now, what is the remedy for this? We need not talk of our fault any more; let us make each one his own personal confession, and then seek amendment. I believe the remedy is a very sweet one. It is not often that medicine is pleasant, but at this time I prescribe for you a charming potion. It is that you follow up the next verse to my text. Read it "My own vineyard have I not kept. Tell me, O you whom my soul loves, where you feed, where you make your flock to rest at noon; for why should I be as one that turns aside by the flocks of your companions?" Get to your Lord, and in him you will find recovery from your neglects. Ask him where he feeds his flock, and go with him. They have warm hearts who commune with Christ. They are prompt in duty who enjoy his fellowship. I cannot help reminding you of what I have often spoken of, namely, our Lord's language to the church at Laodicea. That church had come to be so bad that he said, "I will spue you out of my mouth." And yet what was the remedy for that church? "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." After supping with Christ you will not be lukewarm. Nobody can say, "I am neither cold nor hot" when they have been in his company. Rather they will enquire, "Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way?" If there be an angel, as Milton sings, whose name is Uriel, who lives in the sun, I will warrant you he is never cold; so likewise, he that lives in Christ, and walks with him, is never chill, nor slow in the divine service. Away to your Lord, then! Hasten to your Lord, and you will soon begin to keep your vineyard; for in the Song you will see a happy change effected. The spouse began to keep her vineyard directly, and to do it in the best fashion. Within a very short time you find her saying, "Catch the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines." See, she is hunting out her sins and her follies. Farther on you find her with her Lord in the vineyard, crying, "Awake, O north wind; and come, you south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out!" She is evidently keeping her garden, and asking for heavenly influences to make the spices and flowers yield their perfume. She went down to see whether the vines flourished, and the pomegranates budded. Anon, with her beloved, she rises early to go to the vineyard, and watch the growth of the plants. Farther on you find her talking about all manner of fruits that she has laid up for her beloved. Thus you see that to walk with Christ is the way to keep your vineyard, and serve your Lord. Come and sit at his feet; lean on his bosom; rest on his arm; and make him to be the joy of your spirit. The Lord grant, dear brethren, that this gentle word, which I have spoken as much to myself as to you, may be blessed to us all!

II. Now, I turn to the congregation in general, and speak with THE MAN WHO IN ANY PLACE HAS TAKEN OTHER WORK, AND NEGLECTED HIS OWN.

He can use the words of the text "they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but my own vineyard have I not kept." We know many people who are always doing a great deal, and yet do nothing; fussy people, people to the front in every movement, people who could set the whole world right, but are not right themselves. Just before a general election there is a manifestation of most remarkable men generally people who know everything, and a few things besides, who, if they could but be sent to Parliament, would turn the whole world upside down, and put even Pandemonium to rights. They would pay the National Debt within six months, and do any other trifle that might occur to them. Very eminent men are these! I have come across impossibly great men. None could be so great as these feel themselves to be. They are an order of very superior people: reformers, or philosophers, who know what nobody else knows, only, happily, they have not patented the secret, but are prepared to tell it out to others, and thereby illuminate us all. I suggest to our highly-gifted friends that it is possible to be looking after a great many things, and yet to be neglecting your own vineyard. There is a vineyard that a great many neglect, and that is "their own heart". It is well to have talent; it is well to have influence; but it is better to be right within yourself. It is well for a man to see to his cattle, and look well to his flocks and to his herds; but let him not forget to cultivate that little patch of ground that lies in the center of his being. Let him educate his head, and intermeddle with all knowledge; but let him not forget that there is another plot of ground called the heart, the character, which is more important still. Right principles are spiritual gold, and he that has them, and is ruled by them, is the man who truly lives. He has not life, whatever else he has, who has not his heart cultivated, and made right and pure. Have you ever thought about your heart yet? Oh, I do not mean whether you have palpitations! I am no doctor. I am speaking now about the heart in its moral and spiritual aspect. What is your character, and do you seek to cultivate it? Do you ever use the hoe upon those weeds which are so plentiful in us all? Do you water those tiny plants of goodness which have begun to grow? Do you watch them to keep away the little foxes which would destroy them? Are you hopeful that yet there may be a harvest in your character which God may look upon with approval? I pray that we may all look to our hearts. "Keep your heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life." Pray daily, "Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me;" for if not, you will go up and down in the world, and do a great deal, and when it comes to the end you will have neglected your noblest nature, and your poor starved soul will die that second death, which is the more dreadful because it is everlasting death. How terrible for a soul to die of 'neglect'! How can we escape who 'neglect' this great salvation? If we pay every attention to our bodies, but none to our immortal souls, how shall we justify our folly? God save us from suicide by neglect! May we not have to moan out eternally, "They made me the keeper of the vineyards; but my own vineyard have I not kept!" Now, pass over that point, and think of another vineyard. Are not some people neglecting their "families"? Next to our hearts, our households are the vineyards which we are most bound to cultivate. I shall never forget a man whom I knew in my youth, who used to accompany me at times in my walks to the villages to preach. He was always willing to go with me any evening; and I did not need to ask him, for he asked himself, until I purposely put him off from it. He liked also to preach himself much better than others liked to hear him; but he was a man who was sure to be somewhere to the front if he could. Even if you snuffed him out, he had a way of lighting himself up again. He was good-natured and irrepressible. He was, I believe, sincerely earnest in doing good. But two boys of his were well known to me, and they would swear horribly. They were ready for every vice, and were under no restraint. One of them drank himself into a dying state with brandy, though he was a mere boy. I do not believe his father had ever spoken to him about the habit of intoxication, though he certainly was sober and virtuous himself. I had no fault to find with him except this grave fault that he was seldom at home, was not master of the house, and could not control his children. Neither husband nor wife occupied any place of influence in the household; they were simply the slaves of their children: their children made themselves vile, and they restrained them not! This brother would pray for his children at the prayer-meeting, but I do not think he ever practiced family prayer. It is shocking to find men and women speaking fluently about religion, and yet their houses are a disgrace to Christianity. I suppose that none of you are as bad as that; but, if it be so, please spell this text over: "they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but my own vineyard have I not kept." The most careful and prayerful father cannot be held accountable for having wicked sons, if he has done his best to instruct them. The most anxious and tearful mother cannot be blamed if her daughter dishonors the family, provided her mother has done her best to train her up in the right way. But if the parents cannot say that they have done their best, and their children go astray, then they are blameworthy. If any of them have come to the Tabernacle tonight, and their boys and girls are they do not know where, let them go home quickly, and look them up. If any of my hearers exercise no parental discipline, nor seek to bring their children to Christ, I do implore them to give up every kind of public work until they have first done their work at home. Has anybody made you a minister, and you are not trying to save your own children? I tell you, sir, I do not believe that God made you a minister; for if he had, he would have begun with making you a minister to your own family. "They made me the keeper of the vineyards." "They" ought to have known better, and you ought to have known better than to accept the call. How can you be a steward in the great household of the Lord when you cannot even rule your own house? A Sunday-school teacher, teaching other people's children, and never praying with her own! Is not this a sad business? A teacher of a large class of youths who never has taken a class of his own sons and daughters! Why, what will he do when he lives to see his children plunged into vice and sin, and remembers that he has utterly neglected them? This is plain dealing; but I never wear gloves when I preach. I know not where this knife may cut; but if it wounds, I beg you do not blunt its edge. Do you say that this is "very personal"? It is meant to be personal; and if anybody is offended by it, let him be offended with himself, and mend his ways. No longer let it be true of any of us, "They made me the keeper of the vineyards; but my own vineyard have I not kept." Besides that, every man who knows the Lord should feel that his vineyard lies also "around about his own house". If God has saved your children, then, dear friend, try to do something for your neighbors, for your work-people, for those with whom you associate in daily labor. God has appointed you to take care of those nearest home. They say the cobbler's wife goes barefooted. Do not let it be true. Begin at home, and go on with those nearest home. Manifest Christian love to your neighbors. It is a great pity that yonder Christian man, living in a very dark part of London, comes to the Tabernacle, and does good in our societies, but never speaks a word for Jesus in the court where he lives. Poor stuff, poor stuff, is that salt which is only salt when it is in the salt-box! Throw that kind of salt away. We want a kind of salt that begins to bite into any bit of food it touches. Put it where you like, if it is good salt, it begins to operate upon that which is nearest to it. Some people are capital salt in the box: they are also good in the cake, they are beautifully white to look at, and you can cut them into ornamental shapes; but they are never used; they are merely kept for show. If salt does not preserve anything, throw it away. Ask the farmer whether he would like it for his fields. "No," he says, "there is no goodness in it." Salt that has no saltiness in it is of no use. You can make the garden path of it. It is good to be trodden under foot of men, but that is all the use to which you can put it. O my beloved fellow Christians, do not let it be said that you reside in a place to which you do no good whatever. I am sure if there were individual, personal work on the part of Christians in the localities where they reside, God the Holy Spirit would bless the unanimous action of his earnest, quickened church, and London would soon know that God has a people in the midst of it. If we keep away from the masses if we cannot think of laboring in a district because it is too low or too poor we shall have missed our vocation, and at the last we shall have to lament, "They made me the keeper of the vineyards; but my own vineyard have I not kept." You and I must cry mightily to the Holy Spirit to help us to live really and truly, the lives which our professions demand of us. A day will come when all church-goings, and chapel-goings, and preachings, and singings, and sacraments, will seem fluff and useless stuff, if there has not been the substance of real living for Christ in all our religiousness. Oh that we would rouse ourselves to something like a divine earnestness! Oh that we felt the grandeur of our heavenly surroundings! We are no common men! We are loved with no common love! Jesus died for us! He died for us! He died for us! And is this poor life of ours- so often dull and worldly, our sole return? Behold that piece of land! He that bought it paid his life for it, watered it with bloody sweat, and sowed in it a divine seed. And what is the harvest? We naturally expect great things. Is the poor starveling life of many a professor a fit harvest for Christ's sowing his heart's blood? God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, all in action what is the result? Omnipotence linking hands with love, and working out a miracle of grace! What comes of it, so far as 'you' are concerned? A halfhearted professor of religion. Is this all the result? O Lord, was there ever so small an effect from so great a cause? You might almost need a microscope to discover the result of the work of grace in some people's lives. Ought it to be so? Shall it be so? In the name of him that lives and was dead, dare you let it be so? Help us, O God, to begin to live, and keep the vineyard which you yourself have given to us to keep, that we may render in our account at last with joy, and not with grief! Amen.

Verse 7

Love to Jesus

September 30, 1860 by C. H. SPURGEON (1834-1892)

"You whom my soul loves." Song of Song of Solomon 1:7 .

OUTLINE I. THE RHETORIC OF THE LIP- its reality its assurance its unity its constancy its vehemence of affection II. THE LOGIC OF THE HEART- we love him for his infinite loveliness we love him for his love to us we love him for his suffering for us III. A POSITIVE DEMONSTRATION- in your daily lives in your giving in more extravagant love to Christ

If the life of a Christian may be compared to a sacrifice, then humility digs the foundation for the altar, prayer brings the unhewn stones and piles them one upon the other; penitence fills the trench round about the altar with water; obedience lays the wood in order; faith pleads the Jehovah-jireh, and places the victim upon the altar; but the sacrifice even then is incomplete, for where is the, fire? LOVE, love alone can consummate the sacrifice by supplying the needful fire from heaven. Whatever we lack in our piety, as it is indispensable that we should have faith in Christ, so is it absolutely necessary that we should have love to him. That heart which is devoid of an earnest love to Jesus, is surely still dead in trespasses and sins. And if any man should venture to affirm that he had faith in Christ, but had no love to him, we would at once also venture to affirm as positively, that his religion was vain. Perhaps the great lack of the religion of the times is love. Sometimes as I look upon the world at large, and the Church which lies too much in its bosom, I am apt to think that the Church has 'light', but lacks 'fire'; that she has some degree of true faith, clear knowledge, and much beside which is precious, but that she lacks to a great extent, that flaming love with which she once, as a chaste virgin, walked with Christ through the fires of martyrdom, when she showed to him her undefiled, unquenchable love in the catacombs of the city, and the caves of the rock; when the snows of the Alps might testify to the virgin purity of the love of the saints, by the purple stain which marked the shedding of blood in defense of our bleeding Lord, blood which had been shed in defense of him whom, though they had not seen his face, "unceasing they adore." It is my pleasant task this morning to stir up your pure minds, that you, as part of Christ's Church, may feel somewhat in your hearts today of love to him, and may be able to address him not only under the title, "You in whom my soul trusts," but "You whom my soul loves." Last Sabbath day, if you remember, we devoted to simple faith, and tried to preach the gospel to the ungodly; the present hour we devote to the pure, Spirit-born, godlike, flame of love. On looking at my text, I shall come to regard it thus: First, we shall listen to the rhetoric of the lip as we here read it in these words, "O you whom my soul loves." We shall then observe the logic of the heart, which would justify us in giving such a title as this to Christ, and then come in the third place, to something which even surpasses rhetoric or logic, the absolute demonstration of the daily life; and I pray that we may be able to prove constantly by our acts, that Jesus Christ is He whom our soul loves.

I. First, then, the loving title of our text is to be considered as expressing RHETORIC OF THE LIP. The text calls Christ, "You whom my soul loves." Let us take this title and dissect it a little. One of the first things which will strike us when we come to look upon it, is the reality of the love which is here expressed. Reality, I say; understanding the term "real," not in contradistinction to that which is lying and fictitious, but in contrast to that which is shadowy and indistinct. Do you not notice that the spouse here speaks of Christ as of one whom she knew actually to exist; not as an abstraction, but as a person. She speaks of him as a real person, "You whom my soul loves." Why, these seem to be the words of one who is pressing him to her bosom, who sees him with her eyes, who tracks him with her feet, who knows that he is, and that he will reward the love which diligently seeks him. Brethren and sisters, there often is a great deficiency in our love to Jesus. We do not realize the person of Christ. We think about Christ, and then we love the conception that we have formed of him. But O, how few Christians view their Lord as being as real a person as we are ourselves, very man a man that could suffer, a man that could die, substantial flesh and blood very God as real as if he were not invisible, and as truly existent as though we could compass him in our minds. We need to have a real Christ more fully preached, and more fully loved by the church. We fail in our love, because Christ is not as real to us as he was to the early Church. The early Church did not preach much doctrine; they preached Christ. They had little to say of truths about Christ; it was Christ himself, his hands, his feet, his side, his eyes, his head, his crown of thorns, the sponge, the vinegar, the nails. O for the Christ of Mary Magdalene, rather than the Christ of the critical theologian; give me the wounded body of divinity, rather than the soundest system of theology. Let me show you what I mean. Suppose an infant taken away from its mother, and you should seek to foster in it a love to the parent by constantly picturing before it the idea of a mother, and attempting to give it the thought of a mother's relation to the child. Indeed, my friends, I think you would have a difficult task to fix in that child the true and real love which it ought to bear towards her who bore it. But give that child a mother; let it hang upon that mother's real breast, let it derive its nourishment from her very heart: let it see that mother, feel that mother, put its little arms about that mother's real neck and you have no hard task to make it love its mother. So is it with the Christian. We need Christ not an abstract, doctrinal, pictured Christ but a real Christ. I may preach to you many a year, and try to infuse into your souls a love of Christ; but until you can feel that he is a real man and a real person, really present with you, and that you may speak to him, talk to him, and tell him of your needs, you will not readily attain to a love like that of the text, so that you can call him, "You whom my soul loves." I want you to feel, Christian, that your love to Christ is not a mere pious affection; but that as you love your wife, as you love your child, as you love your parent, so you should love Christ; that though your love to him is of a finer cast, and a higher mold, yet it is just as real as the more earthly passion. Let me suggest another figure. A war is raging in Italy for liberty. The very thought of liberty nerves a soldier. The thought of a hero makes a man a hero. Let me go and stand in the midst of the army and preach to them what heroes should be, and what brave men they should be who fight for liberty. My dear friends, the most earnest eloquence might have but little power. But put into the midst of these men Garibaldi heroism incarnate; place before their eyes that dignified man who seems like some old Roman newly arisen from his tomb, they see before them what liberty means, and what daring is, what courage can attempt, and what heroism can perform; for there he is, and firmed by his actual presence, their arms are strong, their swords are sharp and they dash to the battle at once; his presence ensuring victory, because they realize in his presence the thought which makes men brave and strong. So the Church needs to feel and see a real Christ in her midst. It is not the idea of disinterestedness; it is not the idea of devotion; it is not the idea of self-consecration that will ever make the Church mighty: it must be that idea incarnate, consolidated, personified in the actual existence of a realized Christ in the camp of the Lord's host. I do pray for you, and pray you for me, that we may each one of us have a love which realizes Christ, and which can address him as "You whom my soul loves." But again, look at the text and you will perceive another thing very clearly. The Church, in the expression which she uses concerning Christ, speaks not only with a realization of his presence, but with a firm assurance of her own love. Many of you, who do really love Christ, can seldom get further than to say, "O you whom my soul desires to love! O you whom I hope I love!" But this sentence says not so at all. This title has not the shadow of a doubt or a fear upon it: "O you whom my soul loves!" Is it not a happy thing for a child of God when he knows that he loves Christ? when he can speak of it as a matter of consciousness? a thing out of which he is not to be argued by all the reasonings of Satan a thing concerning which he can put his hand upon his heart, and appeal to Jesus and say, "Lord, you know all things, you know that I love you?" I say, is not this a delightful frame of mind? or, rather, I reverse the question- Is not that a sad miserable state of heart in which we have to speak of Jesus otherwise than with assured affection? Ah, my brethren and sisters, there may be times when the most loving heart may, from the very fact that it loves intensely and loves sincerely, doubt whether it does love at all. But then such times will be times seasons of great soul-searching, nights of anguish. He who truly loves Christ will never give sleep to his eyes, nor slumber to his eyelids, when he is in doubt about his heart belonging to Jesus. "No," says he, "this is a matter too precious for me to question as to whether I am the possessor of it or not, this is a thing so vital that I cannot let it be with a 'perhaps,' as a matter of hap-hazard. No, I must know whether I love my Lord or not, whether I am his or not." If I am addressing any this morning who fear they do not love Christ, and yet hope they do, let me beg you, my dear friend, not to rest contented in your present state of mind; never be satisfied until you know that you are standing on the rock, and until you are quite certain that you really do love Christ. Imagine for a moment, one of the apostles telling Christ that he thought he loved him. Fancy for a moment your own spouse telling you that she hoped she loved you. Fancy your child upon your knee saying, "Father, I sometimes trust I love you." What a stinging thing to say to you! You would almost as soon he said, "I hate you." Because, what is this? Shall he, over whom I watch with care, merely thinks he loves me? Shall she who lies in my bosom, doubt, and make it a matter of conjecture, as to whether her heart is mine or not? O God forbid we should ever dream of such a thing in our ordinary relations of life! Then how is it that we indulge in it in our piety? Is it not sickly and maudlin piety? is it not a diseased state of heart that ever puts us in such a place at all? is it not even a deadly state of heart that would let us rest contented there? No, let us not be satisfied until, by the full work of the Holy Spirit, we are made sure and certain, and can say with unstammering tongue, "O you whom my soul loves." Now, notice something else equally worthy of our attention. The Church, the spouse, in thus speaking of her Lord, thus directs our thoughts not merely to her confidence of love, but to the unity of her affections with regard to Christ. She has not two lovers, she has but one. She does not say, "O the many of you on whom my heart is set!" but "O you!" She has but one after whom her heart is panting. She has gathered her affections into one bundle, she has made them but one affection, and then she has cast that bundle of myrrh and spices upon the breast of Christ. He is to her the "Altogether Lovely," the gathering up of all the loves which once strayed abroad. She has put before the sun of her heart a burning-glass, which has brought all her love to a focus, and it is all concentrated with all its heat and vehemence upon Christ Jesus himself. Her heart, which once seemed like a fountain sending forth many streams, has now become as a fountain which has but one channel for its waters. She has stopped up all the other issues, she has cut away the other pipes, and now the whole stream in one strong current runs toward him, and him alone. The Church, in the text here, is not a worshiper of God and of Baal too; she is no time-server, who has a heart for all comers. She is not as the harlot, whose door is open for every wayfarer; but she is a chaste one, and she sees none but Christ, and she knows none whom her soul desires, except her crucified Lord. The wife of a noble Persian having been invited to be present at the wedding feast of King Cyrus, her husband asked her merrily upon her return whether she did not think the bridegroom-monarch a most noble man. Her answer was, "I know not whether he be noble or not; my husband was so before my eye that I saw none beside him, I have seen no beauty but in him." So if you ask the Christian in our text, "Is not Such-an- one fair and lovely?" "No," she replies, "my eyes are fully fixed on Christ, my heart is so taken up with him that I cannot tell if there be beauty anywhere else, I know that all beauty and all loveliness is summed up in him." Sir Walter Raleigh used to say, "That if all the histories of tyrants, the cruelty, the blood, the lust, the infamy, were all forgotten, yet all these histories might be re-written out of the life of Henry VIII." And I may say by way of contrast, "If all the goodness, all the love, all the gentleness, all the faithfulness that ever existed could all be blotted out, they could all be re-written out of the history of Christ." To the Christian, Christ is the only one she loves, she has no divided aims, no two adored ones, but she speaks of him as of one to whom she has given her whole heart, and none have anything beside. "Oh you whom my soul loves." Come, brethren and sisters, do we love Christ after this fashion? Do we love him so that we can say, "Compared with our love to Jesus, all other loves are but as nothing." We have those sweet loves which make earth dear to us; we do love those who are our kindred according to the flesh, we were indeed beneath the beasts if we did not. But some of us can say, "We do love Christ better than husband or wife, or brother or sister." Sometimes we think we could say with Jerome, "If Christ should bid me go this way, and my mother did hang about my neck to draw me another, and my father were in my way, bowing at my knees with tears entreating me not to go; and my children plucking at my shirt should seek to pull me the other way, I must unclasp my mother, I must push to the very ground my father, and put aside my children, for I must follow Christ." We cannot tell which we love the most until they have come into collision. But when we come to see that the love of mortals requires us to do this, and the love of Christ to do the reverse, then shall we see which we love best. Oh, those were hard times with the martyrs; with that good man for instance, Mr. Nicholas Ferrar, who was the father of some twelve children, all of them but little ones. On the road to the stake his enemies had contrived that his wife should meet him with all the little ones, and she had set them in a row kneeling down by the roadside. His enemies expected that surely now he would recant, and for the sake of those dear babes would certainly seek to save his life. But no! no! He had given them all up to God, and he could trust them with his heavenly Father; but he could not do a wrong thing even for the felicity of covering these little birds with his wings and cherishing them beneath his feathers. He took them one by one to his bosom, and looked, and looked again; and it pleased God to put into the mouth of his wife and of his children words which encouraged him instead of discouraging him, and before he went from them his very babes had bidden the father play the man and die boldly for Christ Jesus. Ay, soul, we must have a love like this which cannot be rivaled, which cannot be shared; which is like a flood tide other tides may come up very high upon the shore, but this comes up to the very rocks and beats there, filling our soul to the very brim. I pray God we may know what such a love to Christ as this may mean. Furthermore, I want to pluck one more flower for you. If you will look at the title before us, you will have to learn not only its reality, its assurance, its unity; but you will have to notice its constancy, "O you whom my soul loves." Not "did love" yesterday;" or, "may begin to love tomorrow ,"but "you whom my soul loves," "you whom I have loved ever since I knew you, and to love whom has become as necessary to me as my vital breath or my native air." The true Christian is one who loves Christ for evermore. He does not play fast and loose with Jesus; pressing him today to his bosom, and then turning aside and seeking after any Delilah who may with her witcheries pollute him. No, he feels that he is a Nazarite unto the Lord; he cannot and he will not pollute himself with sin at any time or in any place. Love to Christ in the faithful heart is as the love of the dove to its mate; she, if her mate should die, can never be tempted to be married unto another, but she sits still upon her perch and sighs out her mournful soul until she dies too. So is it with the Christian; if he had no Christ to love he must even die, for his heart has become Christ's. And so if Christ were gone, love could not be; then his heart would be gone, too, and a man without a heart would be dead. The heart, is it not the vital principle of the body? and love, is it not the vital principle of the soul? Yet, there are some who profess to love the Master, but only walk with him by fits, and then go abroad like Dinah into the tents of the Shechemites. Oh, take heed, you professors, who seek to have two husbands; my Master will never be a part-husband. He is not such a one as to have half of your heart. My Master, though he be full of compassion and very tender, has too noble a spirit to allow himself to be half-proprietor of any kingdom. Canute, the Danish king, might divide England with Edmund the Ironside, because he could not win the whole country, but my Lord will have every inch of you, or none. He will reign in you from one end of the isle of man to the other, or else he will not put a foot upon the soil of your heart. He was never part-proprietor in a heart, and he will not stoop to such a thing now. What says the old Puritan? "A heart is so little a thing, that it is scarce enough for a kite's breakfast, and you say it be too great a thing for Christ to have it all." No, give him the whole. It is but little when you weighs his merit, and very small when measured with his loveliness. Give him all. Let your united heart, your undivided affection be constantly, every hour, given up to him. May it be your lot, constantly, still to abide in him who has loved you. I will make but one more remark, lest I weary you in thus trying to anatomize the rhetoric of love. In our text you will clearly perceive a vehemence of affection. The spouse says of Christ, "O you whom my soul loves." She means not that she loves him a little, or that she loves him with an ordinary passion, but that she loves him in all the deep sense of that word. Oh, Christian men and women, I do protest unto you I fear there are thousands of professors who never knew the meaning of this word "love," as it relates to Christ. They have known it when it referred to mortals; they have felt its flame, they have seen how every power of the body and of the soul are carried away with it; but they have not felt it with regard to Christ. I know you can preach about him, but do you love him? I know you can pray to him, but do you love him? I know you trust him you do you think do but do you love him? Oh! is there a love to Jesus in your heart like that of the spouse when she could say, "Let him kiss me with the kisses of his lips, for his love is better than wine." "No," say you, "that is too intimate for me." Then I do not fear do not love him, for love is always intimate. Faith may stand at a distance, for her look is saving; but Love comes near, for she must kiss, she must embrace. Why, beloved, sometimes the Christian so loves his Lord, that his language becomes unmeaning to the ears of others who have never been in his state. Love has a celestial tongue of her own, and I have sometimes heard her speak so that the lips of worldlings have mocked, and men have said, "That man rants and raves he knows not what he says." Hence it is that Love often becomes a Mystic, and speaks in mystic language, into which the stranger intrudes not. Oh! you should see Love when she has her heart full of her Savior's presence, when she comes out of her chamber! Indeed she is like a giant refreshed with new wine. I have seen her dash down difficulties, tread upon hot irons of affliction and her feet have not been scorched; I have seen her lift up her spear against ten thousand, and she has slain them at one time. I have known her give up all she had, even to the stripping of herself, for Christ, and yet she seemed to grow richer, and to be decked with ornaments as she unarrayed herself, that she might cast her all upon her Lord, and give up all to him. Do you know this love, Christian brethren and sisters? Some of you do I know, for I have seen you demonstrate it in your lives. As for the rest of you, may you learn it, and get above the low standing of the mass of Christ's Church at the present day. Get up out of the bogs and swamps and damp morasses of lukewarm Laodiceanism, and come up, come up higher, up to the mountain top, where you shall stand bathing your foreheads in the sunlight, seeing earth beneath you, its very tempests under your feet, its clouds and darkness rolling down below in the valley, while you talking with Christ, who speaks to you out of the cloud, are almost caught up into the third heaven to dwell there with him. Thus have I tried to explain the rhetoric of my text, "You whom my soul loves."

II. Now let me come to THE LOGIC OF THE HEART, which lies at the bottom of the text. My heart, why should you love Christ? With what argument will you justify yourself? Strangers stand and hear me tell of Christ, and they say "Why should you love your Savior so? My heart, you can not answer them so as to make them see his loveliness, for they are blind, but you can at least be justified in the ears of those who have understanding; for doubtless the virgins will love him, if you will tell to them why you love him. Our hearts give for their reason why they love him, first, this: We love him for his infinite loveliness. If there were no other reason, if Christ had not bought us with his blood, yet sometimes we feel if we had renewed hearts, we must love him for having died for others. I have sometimes felt in my own soul, that setting aside the benefit I received from his dear cross, and his most precious passion, which, of course, must ever be the deepest motive of love, "for we love him because he first loved us;" yet setting aside that, there is such beauty in Christ's character such loveliness in his passion such a glory in that self-sacrifice, that one must love him. Can I look into your eyes and not be smitten with your love? Can I gaze upon your thorn-crowned head, and shall not my heart feel the thorn within it? Can I see you in the fever of death, and shall not my soul be in a fever of passionate love to you. It is impossible to see Christ and not to love him; you cannot be in his company without at once feeling that you are wedded to him. Go and kneel by his side in Gethsemane's garden, and I am persuaded that the drops of gore as they fall upon the ground, shall each one of them be irresistible reasons why you should love him. Hear him as he cries "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Remember that he endures this out of love to you, and you must love him. If you ever read the history of Moses you believe him to be the grandest of men, and you admire him, and look up to him as to some huge colossus, some mighty giant of the olden times. But you never feel a particle of love in your hearts towards Moses; you could not- his is an unlovable character; there is something to admire, but nothing to win affection. When you see Christ you look up, but you do more, you feel drawn up, you do not admire so much as love, you do not adore so much as embrace; his character enchants, subdues, overwhelms, and with the irresistible impulse of its own sacred attraction it draws your heart to himself. Well did Dr. Watts say,

"His worth, if all the nations knew, Sure the whole earth would love him too."

But still, love has another argument why she loves Christ, namely, Christ's love to her. Did you love me Jesus, King of heaven, Lord of angels, Master of all worlds, did you set your heart on me? What, did you love me from of old, and in eternity choose me to yourself? Did you continue to love me as the ages rolled on? Did you come from heaven to earth that you might win me to be your spouse, and do you love me so that you do not leave me alone in this poor desert world; and are you this very day preparing a house for me where I shall dwell with you forever? A very wretch Lord I should prove had I no love to you. I must love you, it is impossible for me to resist it, that thought that you love me has compelled my soul to love you. Me! me! what was there in me, could you see beauties in me? I see none in myself; my eyes are red with weeping, because of my blackness and deformity; I have said even to the sons of men, "Look not upon me, for I am black, because I am darkened by the sun." And do you see beauties in me? What a quick eye must you have, no, rather it must be that you have made my eyes to be your mirror, and so you see yourself in me, and it is your image that you love; surely you could not love me. Remember that ravishing text in the Canticles, where Jesus says to the spouse, "You are all fair my love, there is no spot in you." Can you imagine Christ saying that to you; and yet he has said it, "You are all fair my love, there is no spot in you, "he has put away your blackness, and you stand in his sight as perfect as though you had never sinned, and as full of loveliness as though you were what you shall be, when made like unto him at last. Oh brothers and sisters, some of you can say with emphasis, "Did he love me, then I must love him." I run my eye along your ranks, there sits a brother who loves Christ who not many months ago cursed him. There sits a drunkard there another who was in prison for crimes, and he loved you, even you, and you could abuse the wife of your bosom, because she loved the dear name, you were never happier than when you were violating his day, and showing your disrespect to his ministers, and your hatred to his cause, yet he loved you. And me! even me! forgetful of a mother's prayers, regardless of a father's tears, having much light, and yet sinning much; yet he loved me, and has proved his love. I charge you, oh my heart, by the roes and by the hinds of the field that you give yourself wholly up to my Beloved, and that you spend and be spent for him. Is that your charge to your heart this morning? Oh! it must be if you know Jesus, and then know that Jesus loves you. One more reason does love give us yet more powerful still. Love feels that she must give herself to Christ, because of Christ's suffering for her.

"Can I Gethsemane forget?" Or there your conflict see, Your agony and bloody sweat, And not remember you?" "When to the cross I turn mine eyes, And rest on Calvary O Lamb of God! my sacrifice! I must remember you."

My life when it shall ebb out may cause me to lose many mental powers, but memory will love no other name than is recorded in it. The agonies of Christ have burned his name into our hearts- you cannot stand and see him mocked by Herod's men of war, you cannot behold him made nothing of, and spit upon by menial lips, you cannot see him with the nails pierced through his hands and through his feet, you cannot mark him in the extreme agonies of his awful passion without saying, "And did you suffer all this for me? then I must love you, Jesus. My heart feels that no other can have such a claim upon it as you have, for no other has spent themselves for me as you have done. Others may have sought to buy my love with the silver of earthly affection, and with the gold of a zealous and affectionate character, but you have bought it with your precious blood, and you have the richest claim to it- yours shall it be, and that forever." This is love's logic. I may well stand here and defend the believer's love to his Lord. I wish I had more to defend than I have. I dare stand here and defend the utmost extravagancies of speech, and the wildest fanaticisms of action, when they have been done for love to Christ. I say again, I only wish I had more to defend in these degenerate times. Has a man given up all for Christ? I will prove him wise if he has given up for such an one as Christ is. Has a man died for Christ? I write over his epitaph that he surely was no fool who had but the wisdom to give up his heart for one who had his heart pierced for him. Let the Church try to be extravagant in her love for Christ for once, let her break the narrow bounds of her conventional prudence, and for once arise and dare to do wonders let the age of miracles return to us let the Church make bare her arm, and roll up from her the sleeves of her formality, let her go forth with some mighty thought within her, at which the worldling shall laugh and scoff; and I will stand here, and before the bar of a scoffing world, dare to defend her. Oh Church of God, you can do no extravagance for Christ. You may bring out your Marys, and they may break their alabaster boxes, but he well deserves the breaking. You may shed your perfume, and give to him rivers of oil, and ten thousands of the fat of fed beasts, but he deserves it well. I see the Church as she was in the first centuries, like an army storming a city a city that was surrounded with a vast moat, and there was no means of reaching the ramparts except by filling up the moat with the dead bodies of the Church's own martyrs and confessors. Do you see them? A martyr has just now fallen in, his head has been smitten off with the sword. The next day at the tribunal there are twenty wishing to die that they may follow him; and on the next day twenty more; and the stream pours on until the huge moat is filled. Then, those who follow after, scale the walls and plant the blood-red standard of the cross, the trophy of their victory upon the top thereof. Should the world say, "Why this expense of blood?" I answer- he is worthy for whom it was shed. The world says, "Why this waste of suffering? why this pouring out of an energy in a cause that at best is but fanatical?" I reply, "He is worthy, he is worthy, though the whole world were put into the censer, and all men's blood were the frankincense, he is worthy to have it all sacrificed before him. Though the whole Church should be slaughtered, he is worthy upon whose altar it should be sacrificed. Though every one of us should lie and rot in a dungeon, though the moss should grow upon our eyelids, though our bodies should be given to the kites and the carrion crows, he is worthy to claim the sacrifice; and it were all too mean a gift for such an one as he is." Oh Master, restore unto the Church the strength of love which can hear such language, and feel it to be true.

III. Now I come to my last point, upon which I must dwell but briefly. Rhetoric is good, logic is better, but A POSITIVE DEMONSTRATION is the best.

I sought to give you rhetoric when I expounded the words of the text. I have tried to give you logic now that I have given you the reasons for the love in the text. And now I want you to give I cannot give it I want you to give, each for himself, the demonstration of your love for Christ in your daily lives. Let the world see that this is not a mere label to you a label for something that does not exist, but that Christ really is to you "him whom your soul loves." You ask me how you shall do it, and I reply thus: I do not ask you to shave your head and become a monk, or to cloister yourself, my sister, alone, and become a nun. Such a thing might even show your love to yourself rather than your love to Christ. But I ask you to go home now, and during the days of the week engage in your ordinary business; go with the men of the world as you are called to do, and take the calling which Christ has given to you, and see if you cannot honor him in your calling. I, as a minister of course, must find it to some degree less honorable work to serve Christ than you do, because my calling does as it were supply me with gold, and for me to make a golden image of Christ out of that is but small work, though God knows I find it more than my poor strength could do apart from his grace. But for you to work out the image of Christ in the iron, or clay, or common metal of your ordinary lives, Oh, this will be glorious indeed! And I think you may honor Christ in your sphere as much as I can in mine; perhaps more, for some of you may know more troubles, you may have more poverty, you may have more temptation, more enemies; and therefore you, by loving Christ under all these trials, may demonstrate more fully than ever I can, how true your love is to him, and how soul-inspiring is his love to you. Away, I say, and look out on the morrow, and the next day, for opportunities of doing something for Christ. Speak up for his dear name if there be any that abuse him; and if you find him wounded in his members, be as Eleanor, Queen of England did for the king- suck the poison out of his wounds. Be ready to have your name abused rather than he should dishonored; stand up always for him, and be his champion. Let him not lack a friend, for he stood your friend when you had none beside. If you meet with any of his poor people, show them love for his sake, as David did to Mephibosheth out of love to Saul. If you know any of them to be hungry, set food before them; you had as good set the dish before Jesus Christ himself! If you see them naked, clothe them; you clothe Christ when you clothe his people. No, do not only seek to do this good temporally to his children, but seek you evermore to be a Christ to those who are not his children as yet. Go among the wicked and among the lost, and the abandoned; tell them the words of Christ; tell them Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, go after his lost sheep, be a shepherd as he was a shepherd, so will you show your love. Give what you can to him; when you die, make him heir of some of your estate. I should not think I loved my friend, if I did not sometimes give him a present; I should not think I love Christ if I did not give him somewhat, some sweet cane with honey, some fat of my burned sacrifices. I heard the other day a question asked concerning an old man who had long professed to be a Christian. They were saying he left so much and so much, and one said, "But did he leave Christ anything in his will?" Some one laughed and thought it ridiculous. Ah! so it would be, because men do not think of Christ as being a person; but if we had this love it would be but natural to us to give to him, to live for him, and perhaps if we had anything at the end, to let him have it, that so even dying we might give our friend in our dying testament a proof that we remembered him, even as he remembered us in his last testament and will. Oh brothers and sisters what we want more of in the Church is, more extravagant love to Christ. I want each of you to show your love to Jesus, sometimes by doing something the like of which you have never done before. I remember saying one Sabbath morning that the Church ought to be the place of invention as much as the world. We do not know what machine is to be discovered yet by the world, but every man's wit is at work to find out something new. So ought the wits of the Church to be at work to find out some new plan of serving Christ. Robert Raikes found out Sabbath-schools, John Pounds the Ragged-school: but are we to be content with carrying on their inventions? No; we need something new. It was in the Surrey Hall, through that sermon, that our brethren first thought of the midnight meetings that were held, an invention suggested by the sermon I preached upon the woman with the alabaster box. But we have not come to the end yet. Is there no man that can invent some new deed for Christ? Is there no brother that can do something more for him than has been done today, or yesterday, or during the last month? Is there no man that will dare to be strange and singular and wild, and in the world's eye to be fanatical for that is no love which is not fanatical in the eye of man. Depend upon it, that is no love that only confines itself to propriety. I wish the Lord would put into your heart some thought of giving an unasked thank-offering to him, or of doing an unusual service, that so Christ might be honored with the best of your lambs, and that the fat of your bullocks might be exceeding glorified by your proof of love to him. God bless you as a congregation. I can only invoke his blessing, for O these lips refuse to speak of love which I trust my heart knows, and which I desire to feel more and more. Sinner, trust Christ before you seek to love him, and trusting Christ you will love him.

The Church's Love to Her Loving Lord

by C. H. SPURGEON (1834-1892)

"Tell me, O you whom my soul loves, where you feed, where you make your flock to rest at noon: for why should I be as one that turns aside by the flocks of your companions?" Song of Song of Solomon 1:7 .

We shall need to lift up our hearts to God and ask to be quickened in grace, or the precious truths in our text will not prove to us "as honey out of the rock," nor the "feast of fat things, of wine and marrow, of wine on the lees well refined." We cannot appreciate the spirituality of this book, unless God's Spirit shall help us. Many read these words and only see a proof of the imaginative power of an eastern mind. Some read to scoff and blaspheme, and others, even good people, neglect to read this book altogether, being unable to drink in its spirit because of their lack of that higher life of communion with the Beloved, which is here so beautifully laid open to our view. Now I am persuaded better things of you beloved. I am sure that you believe that every word of God is precious, and most certainly we say of this book, "it is more to he desired than gold, yes than much fine gold, sweeter also than honey, or the droppings of the honeycomb." This book of the Canticles is most precious to us, it is the inner court of the temple of truth. It seems to us to belong to the secret place of the tabernacle of the Most High. We see our Savior's face in almost every page of the Bible, but here we see his heart and feel his love to us. We shall hope this morning to speak of our own experience, as well as of the Church who is here speaking. You will perceive that she begins with a title, she expresses a desire, she enforces it with an argument: "Tell me, O you whom my soul loves, where you feed, where you make your flock to rest at noon: for why should I be as one that turns aside by the flocks of your companions?"

I. We commence with the TITLE: "O you whom my soul loves."

It is well to be able to call the Lord Jesus Christ by this name without an "if," or a "but." A very large proportion of Christian people can only say of Christ that they hope they love him; they trust they love him; but this is a very poor and shallow experience which is content to stay here. It seems to me that no one ought to give any rest to his spirit until he feels quite sure about a matter of such vital importance. We are not content to have a hope of the love of our parents, or of our spouse, or of our children; we feel we must be certain there; and we ought not to be satisfied with a hope that Christ loves us, and with a bare trust that we love him. The old saints did not generally speak with buts, and ifs, and hopes, and trusts, but they spoke positively and plainly. "I know whom I have believed," says Paul. "I know that my Redeemer lives," says Job. "He whom my soul loves," says Solomon, in the song as we have it here. Learn, dear friends, to get that positive knowledge of your love to Jesus, and do not be satisfied until you can talk about your interest in him as a reality, which you have made infallibly sure by having received the witness of the Holy Spirit, and his seal upon your soul by faith, that you are born of God, and belong to Christ.

Speaking then of this title which rings the great bell of love to Jesus, let us notice first the cause, and secondly the effect of that love. If we can look into the face of him who once sweat great drops of blood, and call him, "O you whom my soul loves," it is interesting to consider what is the cause of our love. And here our reply is very quick.

The efficient cause of our love is the Holy Spirit of God. We should never have had a spark of love to Jesus if it had not been bestowed upon us by the divine worker. Well said John, "Love is of God." Certainly it is so. Our love to Christ is one beam from himself, the Sun. Certainly a man can no more naturally love Christ than a horse can fly. I grant you there is no physical disability, but there is a moral and spiritual disability which effectually disqualifies him from the high and lofty emotion of love to Jesus. Into that dead corpse the living spirit must be breathed; for those who are dead in trespasses and sins cannot love Christ. That heart of stone must be transformed into a heart of flesh, for stones may be hurled at the Savior, but they can never love him. That lion must become a lamb, or it can never claim Christ as its Shepherd. That raven must he turned into a dove, or it will never fly to Christ as its ark. "Except a man he born again," we may say, he cannot see this precious sparkling jewel of the kingdom of God- love to Christ. Search yourselves then, brethren, do you love him or not, for if you love him, you have been born again; and if you do not love him, then you are still in darkness, and are not his.

"Can you pronounce his charming name, His acts of kindness tell; And while you dwell upon the theme, No sweet emotion feel?" I think some of us would have to answer- "A very wretch, Lord, I should prove, Had I no love to you; Sooner than not my Savior love, Oh, may I cease to be!"

This, then, is the efficient cause- the Holy Spirit.

The rational cause, the logical reason why we love Jesus lies in himself- in his looks, in his present working, and in his person, besides many other little founts, which all tend to swell the river- the growing, deepening river of our love to him.

Why do we love Jesus? We have the best of answers- because he first loved us. Hearken, you strangers who inquire why we should love the Savior so. We will give you such reasons that we will satisfy you and set your mouths watering to be partakers of the same reasons, that you may come to love him too. Why do we love him? Because before ever this round earth was fashioned between the palms of the great Creator- before he had painted the rainbow, or hung out the lights of the sun and moon, Christ's delights were with us. He foresaw us through the glass of his prescience; he knew what we should be- looked into the book in which all his "members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there were none of them;" and as he looked upon us, the glance was love. He delighted to sit upon the throne of glory, and to remember his dear ones who were yet to be born. It was the great prospect which his mighty and infinite Spirit had--a joy that was set before him, that he should see a multitude that no man could number who should be his beloved forever.

"Loved of my Christ, for him again, With love intense I'll burn; Chosen of You before time began, I choose You in return."

Oh, could you know that Jesus had loved you from before all worlds, you must love him. At least you will grant there cannot be a better reason for love than love. Love demands; no, it does not demand- it takes by almighty force, by irresistible energy, that heart captive upon whom it thus sets itself.

This Jesus loved us for no reason whatever in ourselves. We were black as the tents of Kedar; we had much deformity but no beauty, and yet he loved us; and our deformity was of such a kind that it might meritoriously have made him hate us. We kicked against him and despised him. Our language naturally was, "We will not have this man to reign over us," and when we heard of his loving us, we sneered at it. He was despised and rejected of men; we hid as it were, our faces from him. He was despised and we esteemed him not. We thought his love an empty tale, a paltry trifle, and yet he loved us. No, we were his enemies. We slew him; we confess with sorrow that we were the murderers of the Prince of Life and Glory. Our hands were stained with his gore and our garments dyed with his blood, and yet he saw all this and loved us still. Shall we not love him? Surely our heart is harder than adamant, because we do not love him more. But it were hell-hardened steel if it did not love at all. Our Savior so loved us that he stripped himself of his robes of radiance. Listen, you children of God, it is the old story over again, but it is always new to you. He stripped himself of his bright array, laid aside his scepter and his crown, and became an infant in Bethlehem's manger among the horned oxen. Thirty years of poverty and shame the King of heaven spent among the sons of men, and all out of love to us. Jesus the heavenly lover, panting to redeem his people, was content to abide here without a place whereon to rest his head, that he might rescue you. See him yonder in the garden in his agony, his soul exceeding sorrowful even unto death; his forehead, no his head, his hair, his garments- red with the bloody sweat. See him giving his back to the smiters, and his cheeks to those who pluck off the hair. See him as he hides not his face from shame and spitting, dumb like a sheep before her shearers; and like a lamb that is brought to the slaughter, so he opened not his mouth, but patiently bore it all on our behalf. See him with the cross upon his mangled shoulders, staggering through Jerusalem's streets, unwept, unpitied, except by poor feeble women! See him, you that love him, and love him more as he stretches out his hands to the nail, and gives his feet to the iron. See him, as with power to deliver himself he is made captive. Behold him as they lift up the cross with him upon it and dash it down into its place and dislocate his bones. Hear that cry, "I am poured out like water: all my bones are out of joint, You have brought me into the dust of death." Stand, if you can, and view that face so full of dolor. Look until a sword shall go through your own heart as it went through his virgin mother's very soul. Oh, see him as he thirsts and has that thirst mocked with vinegar. Hear him as he prays and has that prayer parodied, "He cries for Elijah, let Elijah come and take him down." See him, as they who love him come and kiss his feet and bathe them with their tears. Will you not love him who did all that friend could do for friend; who gave his life for us? Beloved, here are a thousand crimson cords that tie us to the Savior, and I hope we feel their constraining power. It is his vast love, the old eternal bond, the love which redeemed, which suffered in our stead, the love which pleaded our cause before the eternal throne: it is this which we give as a sufficient reason why we should love the Savior, if needs be, even unto death. Moreover, we have another reason. I trust many here can say that they love the Savior because of his present dealings towards them. What has he not done for us this very day? Some of you came here this morning heavy and you went away rejoicing; perhaps you have had answers to prayer this very week. You have passed through the furnace and not a smell of fire has passed upon you. You have had many sins this week, but you have felt the efficacy of his blood again and again. Some of us have known what it is during the past six days to have the ravishing delights of private communion with him. He has made us glad; our spirits have leaped for very joy, for he has turned again the captivity of our soul. You have drunk of him as of "the brook by the way," and you have therefore lifted up your head. Beloved, if there were nothing else which Christ had done for my soul, that which I have tasted and handled of him within the last few months would make me love him forever, and I know that you can say the same. Nor is this all. We love the Savior because of the excellency of his person. We are not blind to excellence anywhere, but still we can see no excellence like his.

"Jesus you fairest, dearest one, What beauties you adorn Far brighter than the noonday sun, Or star that gilds the morn. Here let me fix my wandering eyes, And all your glories trace; Until, in the world of endless joys, I rise to your embrace."

When Tigranes and his wife were both taken prisoners by Cyrus, Cyrus turning to Tigranes said, "What will you give for the liberation of your wife?" and the King answered, "I love my wife so that I would cheerfully give up my life if she might be delivered from servitude;" whereupon Cyrus said, "That if there was such love as that between them they might both go free." So when they were away and many were talking about the beauty and generosity of Cyrus, and especially about the beauty of his person, Tigranes, turning to his wife, asked her what she thought of Cyrus, and she answered that she saw nothing anywhere but in the face of the man who had said that he would die if she might only he released from servitude. "The beauty of that man," she said, "makes me forget all others." And verily we would say the same of Jesus. We would not decry the angels, nor think ill of the saints, but the beauties of that man who gave his life for us are so great that they have eclipsed all others, and our soul only wishes to see him and not another; for, as the stars hide their heads in the presence of the sun, so may you all be gone, you delights, you excellencies, when Christ Jesus, the chief delight, the chief excellency, makes his appearance. Dr. Watts says,

"His worth, if all the nations knew, Sure the whole earth would love him too."

And so it seems to us. Could you see him, you must love him. It was said of Henry VIII., that if all the portraits of tyrants, and murderers, and thieves were out of existence, they might all be painted from the one face of Henry VII.; and turning that round another way, we will say, that if all the excellencies, beauties, and perfections of the human race were blotted out, they might all he painted again from the face of the Lord Jesus

"All over glorious is my Lord; Must be beloved, and yet adored."

These are some of the reasons why our heart loves Jesus. Before I leave those reasons, I should like to put a few questions round among this great crowd. O friends, would you not love Jesus if you knew something of this love as shed abroad in your hearts- something of this love as being yours? Now, remember, there is a very great promise that Christ has made, and it is this, "Him that comes to me I will ill no wise cast out." Now what does that refer to? Why to any "him" in all the world, that comes to Christ. Whoever you may be, if you come to Jesus- and you know that means just trusting him, leaning upon him- if you come to him, he will not cast you out; and when he has received you to his bosom, you will then know (but you cannot know until then) how much he loves you, and then, methinks you will say with us, "Yes, his name is- You whom my soul loves." I shall now for a short time speak on the effects of this love, as we have dwelt on the cause of it. When a man has true love to Christ, it is sure to lead him to dedication. There is a natural desire to give something to the person whom we love, and true love to Jesus compels us to give ourselves to him. One of the earliest acts of the Christian's life is to take ourselves, and lay body, soul, and spirit upon the altar of consecration, saying, "Here I am; I give myself to you." When the pupils of Socrates had nearly all of them given him a present, there was one of the best scholars who was extremely poor, and he said to Socrates, "I have none of these things which the others have presented to you; but, O Socrates, I give you myself;" whereupon Socrates said it was the best present he had had that day. "My son, give me your heart"-this is what Jesus asks for. If you love him, you must give him this. True love next shows itself in obedience. If I love Jesus, I shall do as he bids me. He is my husband, my Lord- I call him "Master." "If you love me," says he, "keep my commandments." This is his chosen proof of my love, and I am sure, if I love him, I shall keep his commandments. And yet there are some who profess to love Christ who very seldom think of keeping some of his commandments. "This do you in remembrance of me," Christ says, and yet some of you never come to his table. May I gently ask you, how you make this disobedience consort with genuine affection for him? "If you love me, keep my commandments."

"IT IS love that makes our willing feet In swift obedience move."

We can do anything for those we love, and, if we love Jesus, no burden will be heavy, no difficulty will be great: we should rather wish to do more than he asks of us, and only desire that he were a little more exacting that we might have a better opportunity of showing forth our affection. True love, again, is always considerate and afraid lest it should give offense. It walks very daintily. If I love Jesus, I shall watch my eye, my heart, my tongue, my hand, being so fearful lest I should wake my beloved, or make him stir until he please; and I shall be sure not to take in those bad guests, those ill-favored guests of pride and sloth, and love of the world. I shall tell them to be packing, for I have a dear one within who will not tarry long if he sees me giving sideling glances to these wicked ones. My heart shall be wholly his. He shall sit at the head of the table, he shall have the best dish thereon, no, I will send all others away that I may have him all to myself, and that he may have my whole heart, all that I am, and all that I have. Again, true love to Christ will make us very jealous of his honor. As Queen Eleanor went down upon her knees to suck the poison from her husband's wound, so we shall put our lips to the wound of Christ when he has been stabbed with the dagger of calumny, or inconsistency, being willing sooner to take the poison ourselves, and to he ourselves diseased and despised than that his name, or his cross should suffer ill. Oh, what does it matters what becomes of us, if the King reigns? I will go home to my bed, and die in peace, if the King sits on the throne. Let me see King David once again installed in Zion's sacred halls; and my soul, in poverty and shame, shall still rejoice if the banished King Jesus shall once again come back, and have his own, and take his scepter, and wear his crown. Beloved, I trust we can say we would not mind if Christ would make a mat of us, if he would wipe his Church's filthy sandals on us, if we might but help to make her pure; we would hold the stirrup for him to mount any day, ay, and he his horsing-block that he might mount his glorious charger, and ride forth conquering and to conquer. Say, what does it matters what we are, or where we are, if the King have his own? If we love Christ, again, we shall be desiring to promote his cause, and we shall be desiring to promote it ourselves. We shall wish to see the strength of the mighty turned at the gate, that King Jesus may return triumphant; we shall not wish to sit still while our brethren go to war, but we shall want to take our portion in the fray, that like soldiers that love their monarch, we may prove by our wounds and by our sufferings that our love is real. The apostle says, "Let us not love in word only but in deed and in truth." Actions speak louder than words, and we shall always he anxious to tell our love in deeds as well as by our lips. The true disciple asks continually, "Lord what will you have me to do?" He esteems it his highest honor to serve the Lord. "I would rather he a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness."

"There's not a lamb in all the flock, I would disdain to feed; There's not a foe before whose face I fear your cause to plead. Would not my ardent spirit vie With angels round your throne, To execute your sacred will And make your glory known?"

Yes, indeed, we thus can sing, and mean, I trust, every word; yes, will go forth into the whole world and preach the gospel to every creature. We will tell of this love to all, and labor to win for the Master's honor a multitude which no man can number out of every nation, and kindred, and tribe, and tongue and people. I believe in an active love, a love which has hands to labor and feet to run, as well as a heart to feel, eyes to glance, and ears to listen. A mother's love is of the purest and intensest sort in the world, and it is the most practical. It shows itself in deeds of untiring devotion both night and day. So also should it be with us; we should let our affections prompt us to life-long labor. The love of Christ should constrain us to live, and if needs he die to serve him. Heaven is the place of purest, holiest attachment to Christ; then we shall understand most about his love to us, and of all he has done to prove it, and the consequence will be that his servants shall serve him day and night in his holy temple. We are expecting a home in glory not of idleness, but of continual activity. It is written, " His servants shall serve him," and we are taught to pray now that we may do his will on earth as it is done in heaven. Let us, therefore, each one, be busily engaged in the great harvest-field. The harvest is great and the laborers are few. There is room for all, and each man's place is waiting to receive him. If we truly love our Lord, we shall at once press to the front and begin the "work of faith and labor of love." Has not the Master been wont to show his love to us in deeds? Look to Bethlehem, to Gabbatha, to Gethsemane, to Golgotha; yes, look to his whole life as he "went about doing good," and see if all this will not stir you imp to service. Listen to the life-story of the Lord, and you will hear a voice from each one of his deeds of love saying to you, "Go you and do likewise." And, once again, if we love Jesus we shall be willing to suffer for him. Pain will become light; we shall sing with Madame Guyon "To me it is equal whether love ordain my life or death, Appoint me ease, or pain." It is a high attainment to come to, but love can make us think ourselves of so small import that if Christ can serve himself with us, we shall make no choice as to what, or where we may be. We can sing once more-

"Would not my heart pour forth its blood In honor of your name, And challenge the cold hand of death To damp this immortal flame?"

Our hearts are, I trust, so full of real devotion to Christ, that we can give him everything, and endure all things for his sake. Cannot we say-

"For him I count as gain each loss, Disgrace for him renown, Well may I glory in his cross, While he prepares my crown."

Darkness is light about us if we can serve him there. The bitter is sweet if the cup is put to our lips in order that we may share in his sufferings, and prove ourselves to he his followers. When Ignatius was led to his martyrdom, as he contemplated the nearness of his death and suffering, he said, "Now I begin to be a Christian;" he felt that all that he had done and suffered before was not enough to entitle him to be called a follower of Christ, but now as the Master's bloody baptism was before him, he realized the truth so dear to every right-minded Christian, that he was to be "like unto his Lord." Here we can all prove our love, we can suffer his will calmly if we are not able to do it publicly.

"Weak as I am, yet through your love, I all things can perform; And, smiling, triumph in your name Amid the raging storm."

I pray God we may have such a love moreover as thirsts after Jesus, which cannot he satisfied without present communion with him.

II. This brings me to the thought, which I shall only touch upon as the swallow skims the brook with his wing, and then up and away, lest I weary you; the second point of consideration is the DESIRE OF THE CHURCH AFTER CHRIST JESUS OUR LORD: having called him by his title, she now expresses her longing to be with him.

"Tell me, O you whom my soul loves, where you feed, where you make your flock to rest at noon." The desire of a renewed soul is to find Christ and to be with him. Stale foods left over from yesterday are very well when there is nothing else, but who does not like hot food fresh from the fire? And past communion with Christ is very well. " I remember you from the land of the Hermonites and the hill Mizar;" but these are only stale foods, and a loving soul needs fresh food every day from the table of Christ, and you that have once had the kisses of his mouth, though you remember the past kisses with delight, yet want daily flesh tokens of his love. He that drinks of this water will never thirst again, it is true, except for this water, and he will so thirst for it, that he will be like Samuel Rutherford, who began to be out of heart with the buckets and to want to get right to the well-head that he might lie down and drink, and then, if he could have his fill, he would drink the well quite dry. But there is no hope of that, or rather no fear of it: the well can never be empty, for it rises as we drink. A true loving soul, then, needs present communion with Christ; so the question is, "Tell me where you feed? Where do you get your comfort from, O Jesus? I will go there. Where do your thoughts go? To your cross? Do you look back to that? Then I will go there. Where you feed, there will I feed." Or does this mean actively, instead of being in the passive or the neuter? Where do you feed your flock? in your house? I will go there, if I may find you there. In private prayer? Then I will not be slack in that. In the Word? Then I will read it night and day. Tell me where you feed, for wherever you stand as the shepherd, there will I be, for I need you. I cannot be satisfied to be apart from you. My soul hungers and thirsts to be with you. She puts it again, "Where do you make your flock to rest at noon," for there is only rest in one place, where you cause your flock to rest at noon. That must he a grace-given rest, and only to he found in some one chosen place. Where is the shadow of that rock? It is very hot just now here in the middle of summer, when the sun is pouring down his glorious rays like bright but sharp arrows upon us, and we, that are condemned to live in this great wilderness of brown bricks and mortar, often recollect those glades where the woods grow thick, and where the waters leap from crag to crag down the hill side, and where the birds are singing among the trees. We delight to think of those leafy bowers where the sun cannot dart his rays, where, on some mossy bank, we may stretch ourselves to rest, or have our weary limbs in some limpid stream; and this is just what the spouse is after. She feels the heat of the world's sun, and she longs to be away from its cares and troubles that have furrowed and made brown her face until she looked as if she had been a busy keeper of the vineyards. She needs to get away to hold quiet communion with her Lord, for he is the brook where the weary may lave their wearied limbs; he is that sheltered nook, that shadow of the great rock in the weary land where his people may lie down and be at peace.

"Jesus, the very thought of you, With sweetness fills my breast; But sweeter far your face to see And in your presence rest. For those who find you, find a bliss, Nor tongue, nor pen can show The love of Jesus, what it is, None but his loved ones know."

Now do you not want this tonight? Do not your souls want Christ tonight? My brothers, my sisters, there is something wrong with us if we can do without Christ. If we love him, we must want him. Our hearts ever say,

"Abide with me from morn until eve, For without you I cannot live; Abide with me when night is near, For without you I dare not die."

Yes, we cannot do without Christ; we must have him. "Give me Christ, or else I die," is the cry of our souls. No wonder Mary Magdalene wept when she thought they had taken away her Lord, and she knew not where they had laid him. As the body suffers without food, so should we without Christ. As the fish perish out of water, so should we apart from Christ. I must quote another verse of a hymn, for really the sweet songsters of Israel have lavished all their best poetry, and very rightly so, to tell for us our love-tale concerning our Beloved. I am sure that our heart's inner voice can set to sweetest music the words-

"Oh that I could forever sit With Mary at the Master's feet: Be this my happy choice My only care, delight, and bliss, My joy, my heaven on earth be this, To hear the Bridegroom's voice."

Yes! to be with Jesus is heaven; anywhere on earth, or in the skies- all else is wilderness and desert. It is paradise to be with him; and heaven without Christ would he no heaven to me. My heart cannot rest away from him. To have no Christ would he a punishment greater than I could bear; I should wander, like another Cain, over the earth a fugitive and a vagabond. Verily there would be no peace for my soul. I am sure that the true wife, if her husband is called to go upon a journey, longs ardently for his return. If he is gone to the wars, she dreads lest he should fall. How each letter comes perfumed to her when it tells of his love and constancy, and how she watches for the day when she shall clasp him in her arms once more. Oh, you know that when you were children, if you were sent to school, how you counted until the holidays came on. I had a little almanac, and marked out every day the night before, and so counted one day less until the time I should get home again, and so may you.

"May not a captive long his own dear land to see? May not the prisoner seek release from bondage to be free?"

Of course he may, and so may you, beloved, pant and sigh, as the deer pants for the waterbrooks- for the comfortable enjoyment of the Lord Jesus Christ's presence.

III. THE ARGUMENT USED BY THE CHURCH. Here is the desire. Now, to close, she backs that up with an argument. She says, "Why should I be as one that turns aside by the flocks of your companions?" You have plenty of companions- why should I he turned aside? Why should I not be one? Let us talk it over. Why should I lose my Lord's presence? But the devil tells me I am a great sinner. Ah! but it is all washed away, and gone forever. That cannot separate me, for it does not exist. My sin is buried.

"Plunged as in a shoreless sea- Lost as in immensity."

The devil tells me I am unworthy, and that is a reason. But I always was unworthy, and yet it was no reason why he should not love me at first, amid therefore cannot be a reason why I should not have fellowship with him now. Why should I be left out? Now I am going to speak for the poorest here- I do not know where he is. I want to speak for you that have got the least faith; you that think yourselves the smallest in all Israel; you Mephibosheths that are lame in your feet, and yet sit at the king's table; you poor despised Mordecais that sit at the king's gate, yet cannot get inside the palace, I have this to say to you- Why should you be left there? Just try and reason. Why should I, Jesus, be left out in the cold, when the night comes on. No, there is a cot for the little one, as well as a bed for his bigger brother. Why should I be turned aside? I am equally bought with a price. I cost him, in order to save me, as much as the noblest of the saints: he bought them with blood; he could not buy me with less. I must have been loved as much, or else, seeing that I am of so little worth, I should not have been redeemed at all. If there he any difference, perhaps I am loved somewhat better. Is there not greater, better love shown in the choice of me than of some who are more worthy than I am? Why, then, should I be left out? I know if I have a child that is deformed and decrepit, I love it all the more: it seems as if I had a tenderer care for it. Then why should my heavenly Father be less kind to me than I should be to my offspring? Why should I he turned aside? He chose me: he cannot change in his choice. Why, then, should he cast me off. He knew what I was when he chose me; he cannot therefore find out any fresh reason for turning me aside. He foresaw I should misbehave myself, and yet he selected me. Well, then, there cannot he a reason why I should he left to fall away. Again, I ask, Why should I turn aside? I am a member of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones, and though I am less than the least of all his saints, yet he has said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you." Why should I turn aside? I have a promise all to myself. Has he not said, "I will not quench the smoking flax, nor break the bruised reed"? Has he not said, "The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him in those who hope in his mercy"? If I cannot do more, I can do that.' I do hope in his mercy; then why should I be turned aside? If any should think of doing so, it should not be I, for I need to be near him; I am such a poor plant that I ought to he kept in the sun: I shall never do in the shade. My big brother, perhaps, may manage for a little time without comfort, but I cannot, for I am one of the Ready-to-Halts. I recollect how the shepherds of Mount Clear said, "Come in, Mr. Little Faith; Come in, Mr. Feeble Mind; Come in, Mr. Ready-to-Halt; Come in, Mary;" but they did not say, "Come in, Father Faithful; Come in, Matthew; Come in, Valiant-for-Truth." No, they said these might do as they liked; they were quite sure to take their own part; but they looked first to the feeblest. Then why should I he turned aside? I am the feeblest, and need him most. I may use my very feebleness and proneness to fall, as the reason why I should come to him. Why should I he turned aside? I may fall into sin. My heart may grow cold without his glorious presence; and then, what if I should perish! Why, here let me bethink myself. If I am the smallest lamb in his flock I cannot perish without doing the God of heaven a damage. Let me say it again with reverence. If I, the least of his children, perish, I shall do his Son dishonor, for what will the arch-fiend say? "Aha," says he, "you Surety of the Covenant, you could keep the strong, but you could not keep the weak: I have this lamb here in the pit whom you could not preserve. Here is one of your crown-jewels," says he, "and though it be none of the brightest, though it he not the most sparkling ruby in your coronet, yet it is one of your jewels, and I have it here. You have no perfect regalia: I have a part of it here." Shall that ever be, after Christ has said, "They shall never perish, neither shall any pluck them out of my hand"? Shall this be, when the strong arm of God is engaged for my help, and he has said to me, "The Eternal God is your refuge; and underneath are the everlasting arms?" Jesus, turn me not aside, lest by my fall I grieve your Spirit, and lest by my fall I bring disgrace upon your name. Why should I turn aside? There is no reason why I should. Come my soul, there are a thousand reasons why you should not. Jesus beckons you to come. You wounded saints, you that have slipped to your falling, you that are grieved, sorrowing, and distressed, come to his cross, come to his throne again. Backsliders, if you have been such, return! return! return! A husband's heart has no door to keep out his spouse, and Jesus' heart has no power to keep out his people. Return! return! There is no divorce sued out against you, for the Lord, the God of Jacob says," He hates putting away." Return! return! Let us get to our chambers, let us seek renewed fellowship; and, oh, you that have never had it, and have never seen Christ, may you thirst after him to-night, and if you do, remember the text I gave you, "Him that comes to me I will in no wise cast out." Whoever you may be, if you will come to Jesus, he will not cast you out. "Come, and welcome sinner, come." God bring you for Jesus' sake. Amen.

Verse 12

Fragrant Graces

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A Sermon

(No. 3480)

Published on Thursday, October 7th, 1915.

Delivered by

C. H. SPURGEON,

At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington

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"While the king sitteth at his table, my spikenard sendeth forth the smell thereof." Song of Solomon 1:12 .

THIS passage may be read in several ways. Literally, when Christ tabled among men, when he did eat and drink with them, being found in fashion as a man, the loving spirit broke the alabaster box of precious ointment on his head while the king was sitting at his table. Three times did the Church thus anoint her Lord, once his head and twice his feet, as if she remembered his threefold office, and the threefold anointing which he had received of God the Father to confirm and strengthen him. So she rendered him the threefold anointing of her grateful love, breaking the alabaster box, and pouring the precious ointment upon his head and upon his feet. Beloved, let us imitate the example of those who have gone before. What! though we cannot, as the weeping penitent, wash his feet with our tears, and wipe them with the hairs of our head, like that gracious woman, we may reck nothing, of fair adornments, or fond endowments, if we can but serve his cause or honour his person. Let us be willing to "pour contempt on all our pride," and "nail our glory to his cross." Have you anything tonight that is dear to you? Resign it to him. Have you any costly thing like an alabaster box hidden away? Give it to the King; he is worthy, and when you have fellowship with him at his table, let your gifts be brought forth. Offer unto the King thanksgiving, and pay your vows unto the Most High.

But the King is gone from earth. He is seated at his table in heaven, eating bread in the kingdom of God. Surrounded now not by publicans and harlots, but by cherubim and seraphim, not by mocking crowds, but by adoring hosts, the King sits at his table, and entertains the glorious company of the faithful, the Church of the firstborn whose names are written in heaven. He fought before he could rest. On earth he struggled with his enemies, and it was not till he had triumphed over all, that he sat down at the table on high. There sit, thou King of kings, there sit until thy last enemy shall be made thy footstool. What can we do, brethren, while Christ sits at the table above? These hands cannot reach him; these eyes cannot see him; but our prayers, like sweet perfume, set burning here on earth, can rise in smoke to the place where the King sitteth at his table, and our spikenard can diffuse a perfume even in heaven itself. Do you want to reach Christ? Your prayers can do it. Would you now adore him; would you now set forth your love? With mingled prayer and praise, like the offering of the morning and the evening sacrifice, your incense can come up acceptably before the Lord.

And, brethren, the day is coming when the King shall sit at this table in royal state. Lo, he cometh! Lo, he cometh. Let the Church never forget that. The first advent is her faith; the second advent is her hope. The first advent with the cross lays the foundation; the second advent with the crown brings forth the topstone. The former was ushered in with sighs; the latter shall be hailed with shoutings of "Grace, grace unto it." And when the King, manifested and recognized in his sovereignty over all lands, shall sit at his table with his Church, then, in that blessed Millennium, the graces of Christians shall give forth their odours of sweet savour.

We have thus read the text in three ways, and there is a volume in each; but we turn over another page, for we want to read it in relation to the spiritual presence of Christ as he doth now reveal himself to his people. "When the King sitteth at his table" that is, when we enjoy the presence of Christ "my spikenard giveth forth the smell thereof." Then our graces are in active exercise, and yield a perfume agreeable to our own soul and acceptable before God.

In the train of reflection I shall now attempt to follow, my manner must be hurried; and should it seem feeble, brethren, I cannot help it. If you get fellowship with Christ, I care little for the merits of my sermon, or the perils of your criticism. One thing alone I crave, "Let him kiss us with the kisses of his mouth"; then shall my soul be well content, and so will yours be also. The first observation we make shall be this:

EVERY BELIEVER HAS GRACE IN POSSESSION AT ALL TIMES.

The text implies that when the King is not present the spikenard yields no smell, but the spikenard is there for all that. The spouse speaks of her spikenard as though she had it, and only wanted to have the King come and sit at the table to make its presence known and felt. Ah! well, believer, there is grace in thy heart, if thou be a child of God, when thou canst not see it thyself; when thy doubts have so covered up all thy hopes, that thou sayest, "I am cast out from his presence"; yet for all that, grace may be there. When the old oak has lost its last leaf by the howling blasts of winter; when the sap is frozen up in the veins, and you cannot, though you search to the uttermost bough, find so much as the slightest sign of verdant existence, still even then the substance is in the tree when it has lost its leaves. And so with every believer, though his sap seems frozen, and his life almost dead, yet if once planted, it is there; the eternal life is there when he cannot discover it himself. Do you know if not, I pray you may never know experimentally that there are many things that keep a Christian's spikenard from being poured out. Alas! there is our sin. Ah! shameful, cruel sin! to rob my Master of his glory! But when we fall into sin, of course, our graces become weak and yield no fragrance to God. And too, there is our unbelief, which puts a heavy stone on all our graces, and blows out the heat which was burning the frankincense, so that no altar- smoke arises towards heaven. And often, it may be, it is our bitterness of spirit, for when our mind is cast down we hang our harps upon the willows, so that they give forth no sweet music unto God. And, above all, if Christ be absent, if through neglect or by any other means our fellowship with him is suspended, grace is there but oh! it cannot be seen. There is no comfort springing from it. But, beloved, though we mention this to begin with, we rather choose to pass on and observe that:

II. GRACE IS NOT GIVEN TO A CHRISTIAN TO BE THUS HIDDEN, BUT IT IS INTENDED THAT, LIKE SPIKENARD, IT SHOULD ALWAYS BE IN EXERCISE.

If I understand a Christian aright, he should be a man readily discerned. You do not need to write upon a box that contains spikenard, with the lid open, the word "Spikenard." You will know it is there; your nostrils would tell you. If a man should fill his pockets with dust, he might walk where he would, and though he should scatter it in the air, few would notice it; but let him go into a room with his pockets full of musk, and let him drop a particle about, he is soon discovered, because the musk speaks for itself. Now true grace, like spikenard or any other perfume, should speak for itself. You know our Saviour compares Christians to lights. There is a crowd of people standing yonder; I cannot see those who are in the shadow, but there is one man whose face I can see well, and that is the man who holds the torch. Its flames light up his face, so that we can catch every feature readily. So, whoever is not discovered, the Christian should be obvious at once. "Thou also wast with Jesus of Nazareth, for thy speech betrayeth thee." Not only should the Christian be perceptible, but grace has been given to him that it might be in exercise. What is faith, unless it is believing? What is love, unless it is embracing? What is patience, unless it is enduring? To what purpose is knowledge, unless it is revealing truth? What are any of those sweet graces which the Master gives us, unless they yield their perfume? I fear we do not enough gaze upon that face covered with the bloody sweat, for if we did, as sure as the King was thus in our thoughts sitting at his table, we should be more like him; we should love him better; we should live more passionately for him, and should spend and be spent, that we might promote his glory. I just note this point, and then pass on, that believers' graces, like spikenard, are meant to give forth their smell. But here is the pith of our whole subject, though we have little time to linger upon it:

III. THE ONLY WAY IN WHICH A CHRISTIAN'S GRACES CAN BE PUT INTO EXERCISE IS THAT HE MUST HAVE THE PRESENCE OF THE MASTER.

He is called "the King." I am told that the Hebrew word is very emphatic, as if it said, "The King" the King of kings, the greatest of all Kings. He must be such to us absolute Master of our hearts, Lord of our soul's domain, the unrivalled One in our estimation, to whom we render obedience with alacrity. We must have him as King, or we shall not have his presence to revive our graces. And when the King communes with his people, it is said to be at "his table," not at ours. Specially may this apply to the table of communion. It is not the Baptists' table; it is not my table; it is his table, because if there is anything good on it, remember, he spread it; nay, there is nothing on the table unless he himself be there. There is no food to the child of God unless Christ's body be the flesh, and Christ's blood the wine. We must have Christ. It must be emphatically his table by his being present, by his spreading it, his presiding at it, or else we have not his presence at all. I find the Hebrew word here signifies a "round table." I do not know whether that is intended which I understand by it perhaps it is it suggests to me a blessed equality with all his disciples; sitting at his round table, as if there were scarce a head, but he was one of themselves, so close the communion he holds with them sitting at the table; so dear his fellowship, sitting like one of themselves, made like unto his brethren in all things at his round table.

Well, now, we say that when Christ comes into the ordinance of the Lord's Supper, or any other ordinance, straightway our graces are vigorous. How often have we resolved that we would live nearer to Christ! Yet, though awe have resolved, and re-resolved, I fear it has all ended with resolving. Peradventure we have prayed over our resolutions, and for a little season we have sought it very earnestly, but our earnestness soon expired, like every other fire that is of human kindling, and we made but little progress. Be not disheartened, my beloved in the Lord: I tell thee, whether thou art able to believe it or not, that if thy heart be this night cold as the centre of an iceberg, yet if Christ shall come to thee, thy soul shall be as coals of juniper, that have a most vehement flame. Though to thy own apprehension thou seemest to be dead as the bones in a cemetery, yet if Jesus come to thee, thou shalt forthwith be as full of life as the seraphs who are as flames of fire. Why think you he will not come to you? Do you not remember how he did melt you when first he manifested himself to your soul? You were as vile then as you are now; you were certainly as ruined then as you are now; you had no more to merit his esteem then than you have now; you were as far off from him then as you are now I might say even further off. But lo! he came to you when you did not seek him; he came in the sovereignty of his grace and the sweetness of his mercy when you despised him. Wherefore, then, should he not come to you now? Oh! breathe the prayer, tenderly and hopefully breathe the prayer, "Draw me," and you will soon find power to run, and when all your passions and powers are fled, the King will speedily bring you into his chamber. Dark as your present state may be, there are sure signs of breaking day. I want you, brethren, to believe and to expect that you shall hold this night with Christ the richest, sweetest fellowship that ever mortal was privileged to enjoy, and that of a sudden. I know your cares forget them. I know your sins bring them to his feet. I know the wandering of your heart ask him to tether you to his cross with the same cords that bound him to the pillar of his flagellation. I know your brain is perplexed, and your thoughts flying hither and thither, distracted with many cares put on the thorn-crown, and let that be the antidote of all your manifold disquietudes. Methinks Jesus is putting in his hand by the hole of the door. Are not your bowels moved for him? Rise up and welcome him; and as the bread is broken, and the wine is passed round, come, and eat and drink of him, and be not strange to him. "Let not conscience make you linger"; let not doubts and fears hold you back from fellowship with him who loved you or ever the earth was, but do rest your unworthy head upon his blessed bosom, and talk with him, even though the only word you may be able to say may be, "Lord, is it I?" Do seek fellowship with him, as one who ignores every thought, feeling, or fact besides. So may it please him to manifest himself to you and to me as he doth not to the world.

If you that have never had fellowship with Christ think I am talking nonsense, I do not marvel. But let me tell you, if you had ever known what fellowship with Christ means, you would pawn your eyes, and barter your right arms, and give your estates away as trifles for the priceless favour. Princes would sell their crowns, and peers would renounce their dignities, to have five minutes' fellowship with Christ. I will vouch for that. Why, I have had more joy in my Lord and Master in the space of the ticking of a clock than could be crammed into a lifetime of sensual delights, of the pleasures of taste, of the fascinations of literature. There is a depth, a matchless depth, in Jesu's love. There is a luscious sweetness in the fellowship with him. You must eat, or you will never know the flavour of it. Oh! taste and see that the Lord is good! Behold how ready he still is to welcome sinners. Trust him and live. Feed on him, and grow strong. Commune with him, and be happy. May every one of you who shall sit at the table have the nearest approach to Jesus that you ever had! Like two streams that, after flowing side by side, at length unite, so may Christ and our soul melt into one, even as Isis melts into Thames, till only one life shall flow, so that the life we live in the flesh shall be no more ours, but Christ that liveth in us. Amen.

Verse 13

A Bundle of Myrrh

February 28th, 1864 by C. H. SPURGEON (1834-1892)

"A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts." Song of Song of Solomon 1:13 .

Certain divines have doubted the inspiration of Solomon's Song; others have conceived it to be nothing more than a specimen of ancient love-songs, and some have been afraid to preach from it because of its highly poetical character. The true reason for all this avoidance of one of the most heavenly portions of God's Word lies in the fact that the spirit of this Song is not easily attained. Its music belongs to the higher spiritual life, and has no charm in it for unspiritual ears. The Song occupies a sacred enclosure into which none may enter unprepared. "Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground," is the warning voice from its secret tabernacles. The historical books I may compare to the outer courts of the Temple; the Gospels, the Epistles, and the Psalms, bring us into the holy place or the Court of the priests; but the Song of Solomon is the most holy place: the holy of holies, before which the veil still hangs to many an untaught believer. It is not all the saints who can enter here, for they have not yet attained unto the holy confidence of faith, and that exceeding familiarity of love which will permit them to commune in conjugal love with the great Bridegroom. We are told that the Jews d id not permit the young student to read the Canticles that years of full maturity were thought necessary before the man could rightly profit by this mysterious Song of loves; possibly they were wise, at any rate the prohibition foreshadowed a great truth. The Song is, in truth, a book for full-grown Christians. Babes in grace may find their carnal and sensuous affections stirred up by it towards Jesus, whom they know, rather "after the flesh" than in the spirit; but it needs a man of fuller growth, who has leaned his head upon the bosom of his Master, and been baptized with his baptism, to ascend the lofty mountains of love on which the spouse standeth with her beloved. The Sung, from the first verse to the last, will be clear to those who have received an unction from the holy One, and know all things. (1 John 2:20 .) You are aware, dear friends, that there are very few commentaries upon the Epistles of John. Where we find fifty commentaries upon any book of St. Paul, you will hardly find one upon John. Why is that? Is the book too difficult? The words are very simple; there is hardly a word of four syllables anywhere in John's Epistles. Ah! but they are so saturated through and through with the spirit of love, which also perfumes this Book of Solomon, that those who are not taught in the school of communion, cry out, "We cannot read it, for it is sealed." The Song is a golden casket, of which love is the key rather than learning. Those who have not attained unto heights of affection, those who have not been educated by familiar intercourse with Jesus, cannot come near to this mine of treasure, "seeing it is hid from the eyes of all living, and kept close from the fowls of heaven." O for the soaring eagle wing of John, and the far-seeing dove's eyes of Solomon; but the most of us are blind and cannot see afar off. May God be pleased to make us grow in grace, and give us so much of the Holy Spirit, that with feet like hind's feet we may stand upon the high places of Scripture, and this morning have some near and dear intercourse with Christ Jesus. Concerning our text, let us talk very simply, remarking first, that Christ is very precious to believers; secondly, that there is good reason why he should be; thirdly, that mingled with this sense of preciousness, there is a joyous consciousness of possession of him; and that therefore, fourthly, there is an earnest desire for perpetual fellowship with him. If you look at the text again, you will see all these matters in it. I. First, then, CHRIST JESUS IS UNUTTERABLY PRECIOUS TO BELIEVERS. The words manifestly imply this: "A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me." She calls him her "well-beloved," and so expresses her love most emphatically; it is not merely beloved, but well-beloved. Then she looks abroad about her, to find a substance which shall be at once valuable in itself and useful in its properties; and lighting upon myrrh, she saith, "A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me." Without looking into the figure just now, we keep to the statement that Christ is precious to the believer. Observe first, that nothing gives the believer so much joy as fellowship with Christ. Ask yourselves, you who have eaten at his table and have been made to drink of his cup, where can such sweetness be found as you have tasted in communion with Jesus? The Christian has joy as other men have in the common mercies of life. For him there are charms in music, excellence in painting, and beauty in sculpture; for him the hills have sermons of majesty, the rocks hymns of sublimity, and the valleys lessons of love. He can look upon all things with an eye as clear and joyous as another man's; he can be glad both in God's gifts and God's works. He is not dead to the happiness of the household: around his hearth he finds happy associations, without which life were drear indeed. His children fill his home with glee, his wife is his solace and delight, his friends are his comfort and refreshment. He accepts the comforts which soul and body can yield him according as God seeth it wise to afford them unto him; but he will tell you that in all these separately, yea, and in all of them added together, he doth not find such substantial delight as he doth in the person of his Lord Jesus. Brethren, there is a wine which no vineyard on earth ever yielded; there is a bread which even the corn-fields of Egypt could never bring forth. You and I have said, when we have beheld others finding their god in earthly comforts, "You may boast in gold, and silver, and raiment, but I will rejoice in the God of my salvation." In our esteem, the joys of earth are little better than husks for swine compared with Jesus the heavenly manna. I would rather have one mouthful of Christ's love, and a sip of his fellowship, than a whole world full of carnal delights. What is the chaff to the wheat? What is the sparkling paste to the true diamond? What is a dream to the glorious reality? What is time's mirth in its best trim compared to our Lord Jesus in his most despised estate? If you know anything of the inner life, you will all of you confess that our highest, purest, and most enduring joys must be the fruit of the tree of life which is in the midst of the Paradise of God. No spring yields such sweet water as that well of God which was digged with the soldier's spear. As for the house of feasting, the joy of harvest, the mirth of marriage, the sports of youth, the recreations of maturer age, they are all as the small dust of the balance compared with the joy of Immanuel our best beloved. As the Preacher said, so say we, "I said of laughter, It is mad: and of mirth, What doeth it?" "Vanity of vanities; all is vanity." All earthly bliss is of the earth earthy, but the comforts of Christ's presence are like himself heavenly. We can review our communion with Jesus, and find no regrets of emptiness therein; there are no dregs in this wine; no dead flies in this ointment. The joy of the Lord is solid and enduring. Vanity hath not looked upon it, but discretion and prudence testify that it abideth the test of years, and is in time and in eternity worthy to be called "the only true delight."

"What is the world with all its store? "'Tis but a bitter sweet; When I attempt to pluck the rose, A pricking thorn I meet.

Here perfect bliss can ne'er be found, The honey's mix'd with gall; 'Midst changing scenes and dying friends, Be thou my All in All."

We may plainly see that Christ is very precious to the believer, because to him there is nothing good without Christ. Believer, have you not found in the midst of plenty a dire and sore famine if your Lord has been absent? The sun was shining, but Christ had hidden himself and all the world was black to you; or it was a night of tempest, and there were many stars, but since the bright and morning star was gone on that dreary main, where you were tossed with doubts and fears, no other star could shed so much as a ray of light. O, what a howling wilderness is this world without my Lord! If once he groweth angry, and doth, though it be for a moment, hide himself from me, withered are the flowers of my garden; my pleasant fruits decay; the birds suspend their songs, and black night lowers over all my hopes. Nothing can compensate for the company of the Savior: all earth's candles cannot make daylight if the Sun of Righteousness be gone. On the other hand, when all earthly comforts have failed you, have you not found quite enough in your Lord? Your very-worst times have been your best times? You must almost cry to go back to your bed of sickness, for Jesus made it as a royal throne, whereon you reigned with him. Those dark nights ah! they were not dark, your bright days since then have been darker far. Do you remember when you were poor? Oh! how near Christ was to you, and how rich he made you! You were despised and rejected of men, and no man gave you a good word! Ah! sweet was his fellowship then, and how delightful to hear him say, "Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God!" As afflictions abound, even so do consolations abound by Christ Jesus. The devil, like Nebuchadnezzar, heated the furnace seven times hotter, but who would have it less furiously blazing? No wise believer; for the more terrible the heat the greater the glory in the fact that we were made to tread those glowing coals, and not a hair of our head was singed, nor so much as the smell of fire passed upon us, because the Son of God walked those glowing coals in our company. Yes, we can look with resignation upon penury, disease, and even death; for if all comforts be taken from us, we should still be blest, so long as we enjoy the presence of the Lord our Savior. Nor should I be straining the truth if I say that the Christian would sooner give up anything than forsake his Master. I have known some who have been afraid to look that text in the face which saith, "He that loveth son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me," or that "Except a man hate (or love less) his father and mother, and wife and children, he cannot be my disciple." Yet I have found that those have frequently proved to be the most sincere lovers of Jesus who have been most afraid that he had not the best place in their hearts. Perhaps the best way is not to sit down calmly to weigh our love, for it is not a thing to be measured with cool judgment, but put your love to some practical test. Now, if it came to this, that you must deny Christ, or give up the dearest thing you have, would you deliberate? The Lord knoweth I speak what I feel in my own soul when it comes to that, I could not hesitate a second. If there were a stake and burning faggots, I might flinch from the fire, but so mighty is divine love that it would doubtless drive me to the flames sooner than let me leave Jesus. But if it comes to this, "Wilt thou lose thine eyes or give up Christ?" I would cheerfully be blind. Or if it were asked, "Wilt thou have thy right arm withered from its socket or give up Christ?" Ay; let both arms go; let them both drop from the shoulder blades. Or if it should be, "Wilt thou be from this day dumb and never speak before the multitude?" Oh! better to be dumb than lose him. Indeed, when I talk of this it seems to be an insult to my Master, to put hands, and eyes, and tongue, in comparison with him.

"Nor to my eyes is light so dear Nor friendship half so sweet."

If you compare life itself with Jesus, it is not to be named in the same day. If it should be said, "Will you live without Christ or die with Christ?" you could not deliberate, for to die with Christ is to live with Christ for ever; but to live without Christ is to die the second death, the terrible death of the soul's eternal perdition. No, there is no choice there. I think we could go further, dear friends, and say, not only could we give up everything, but I think, when love is fervent, and the flesh is kept under, we could suffer anything with Christ. I met, in one of Samuel Rutherford's letters, an extraordinary expression, where he speaks of the coals of divine wrath all falling upon the head of Christ, so that not one might fall upon his people. "And yet," saith he, "if one of those coals should drop from his head upon mine and did utterly consume me, yet if I felt it was a part of the coals that fell on him, and I was bearing it for his sake, and in communion with him, I would choose it for my heaven." That is a strong thing to say, that to suffer with Christ would be his heaven, if he assuredly knew that it was for and with Christ, that he was suffering. Oh! there is indeed a heavenliness about suffering for Jesus. His cross hath such a majesty and mystery of delight in it, that the more heavy it becometh, the more lightly doth it sit upon the believer's shoulders. One thing I know proveth, beloved, that you esteem Christ to be very precious, namely, that you want others to know him too. Do you not feel a pining in your souls till others hearts be filled with the love of Christ? My eyes could weep themselves out of their sockets for some of you who are ignorant of my Master's love. Poor souls! ye are sitting outside the feast when the door is wide open, and the king himself is within. Ye choose to be out in the highways and under the hedges sooner than come to this wedding-feast, where the oxen and fatlings are killed, and all things are ready oh! did you know him, did you know him, you would never be able to live without him. If your eyes had ever seen him once, or if your heart had ever known the charm of his presence, you would think it to be a hell to be for a moment without Christ. O poor blind eyes which cannot see him, and deaf ears which cannot hear him, and hard stony hearts which cannot melt before him, and hell-besotted souls which cannot appreciate the majesty of his love, God help you! God help you! and bring you yet to know and rejoice in him. The more your love grows, beloved, the more insatiable will be your desire that others should love him, till it will come to this that you will be, like Paul, "in labors more abundant," spending and being spent that you may bring the rest of Christ's elect body into union with their glorious head. II. But, secondly, THE SOUL CLINGETH TO CHRIST, AND SHE HATH GOOD REASON FOR SO DOING, for her own words are "A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me." We will take the myrrh first, and then consider the bundle next. 1. Jesus Christ is like myrrh. Myrrh may be well the type of Christ for its preciousness. It was an exceedingly expensive drug. We know that Jacob sent some of it down into Egypt as being one of the choice products of the land. It is always spoken of in Scripture as being a rich, rare, and costly substance. But no myrrh could ever compare with him, for Jesus Christ is so precious, that if heaven and earth were put together they could not buy another Savior. When God gave to the world his Son, he gave the best that heaven had. Take Christ out of heaven, and there is nothing for God to give. Christ was God's all, for is it not written, "In him dwelleth all the fullness of the Godhead bodily?" Oh! precious gift of the whole of deity in the person of Christ! How inestimably precious is that body of his which he took of the substance of the virgin! Well might angels herald the coming of this immaculate Savior, well might they watch over his holy life, for he is precious in his birth, and precious in all his actions. How precious is he, dear friends, as myrrh in the offering of his great atonement! What a costly sacrifice was that! At what a price were ye redeemed! Not with silver and gold, but with the precious blood of Christ. How precious is he too, in his resurrection! He justifies all his people at one stroke rising from the dead that glorious sun scatters all the nights of all his people by one rising. How precious is he in his ascension, as he leads captivity captive, and scattereth gifts among men! And how precious to-day in those incessant pleadings of his through which the mercies of God come down like the angels upon Jacob's ladder to our needy souls! Yes, he is to the believer in every aspect like myrrh for rarity and excellence. Myrrh, again, was pleasant. It was a pleasant thing to be in chamber perfumed with myrrh. Through the nostrils myrrh conveys delight to the human mind; but Christ gives delight to his people, not through one channel, but through every avenue. It is true that all his garments smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia, but he hath not spiritual smell alone, the taste shall be gratified too, for we eat his flesh and drink his blood. Nay, our feeling is ravished, when his left hand is under us and his right hand doth embrace us. As for his voice it is most sweet, and our soul's ear is charmed with its melody. Let God give him to our sight, and what can our eyes want more? Yea, he is altogether lovely. Thus every gate of the soul hath commerce with Christ Jesus in the richest and rarest commodities. There is no way by which a human spirit can have communion with Jesus which doth not yield unto that spirit fresh and varied delights. O beloved, we cannot compare him merely to myrrh. He is everything which is good to look upon, or to taste, or to handle, or to smell all put together in one, the quintessence of all delights. As all the rivers run into the sea, so all delights center into Christ. The sea is not full, but Jesus is fall to the very brim. Moreover, myrrh is perfuming. It is used to give a sweet smell to other things. It was mingled with the sacrifice, so that it was not only the smoke of the fat of kidneys of rams, and the flesh of fat beasts, but there was a sweet fragrance of myrrh, which went up with the sacrifice to heaven. And surely, beloved, Jesus Christ is very perfuming to his people. Does not he perfume their prayers, so that the Lord smelleth a sweet savor? Doth he not perfume their songs, so that they become like vials full of odour sweet? Doth he not perfume our ministry, for is it not written, "He causeth us to triumph in Christ, and maketh manifest the savor of his knowledge by us in every place. For we are unto God a sweet savor of Christ, in them that are saved, and in them that perish." Our persons are perfumed with Christ. Whence get we our spikenard but from him? Whither shall we go to gather camphire which shall make our persons and presence acceptable before God but to him? "For we are accepted in the beloved." "Ye are complete in him" "perfect in Christ Jesus" "for he hath made us kings and priests unto our God, and we shall reign for ever and ever." Myrrh has preserving qualities. The Egyptians used it in embalming the dead: and we find Nicodemus and the holy women bringing myrrh and aloes in which to wrap the dead body of the Savior. It was used to prevent corruption. What is there which can preserve the soul but Christ Jesus? What is the myrrh which keeps our works, which in themselves are dead, and corrupt, and rotten what, I say, keeps them from becoming a foul stench in the nostrils of God, but that Christ is in them? What we have done out of love to Christ, what we have offered through his mediation, what has been perfumed by faith in his person, becomes acceptable. God looketh upon anything we say, or anything we do, and if he seeth Christ in it, he accepteth it; but if there be no Christ, he putteth it away as a foul thing. See to it then, beloved, that you never pray a prayer which is not sweetened with Christ. I would never preach a sermon the Lord forgive me if I do which is not full to overflowing with my Master. I know one who said I was always on the old string, and he would come and hear me no more; but if I preached a sermon without Christ in it, he would come. Ah! he will never come while this tongue moves, for a sermon without Christ in it a Christless sermon! A brook without water; a cloud without rain; a well which mocks the traveler; a tree twice dead, plucked up by the root; a sky without a sun; a night without a star. It were a realm of death a place of mourning for angels and laughter for devils. O Christian, we must have Christ! Do see to it that every day when you wake you give a fresh savor of Christ upon you by contemplating his person. Live all the day, trying as much as lieth in you, to season your hearts with him, and then at night, lie down with him upon your tongue. It is said of Samuel Rutherford, that he often did fall asleep talking about Christ, and was often heard in his dreams, saying sweet things about his Savior. There is nothing which can preserve us and keep us from sin, and make our works holy and pure, like this "bundle of myrrh." Myrrh again, was used as a disinfectant. When the fever is abroad, we know people who wear little bags of camphor about their necks. They may be very good; I do not know. But the Orientals believed that in times of pest and plague, a little bag of myrrh worn between the breasts would be of essential service to whoever might carry it. And there doubtless is some power in myrrh to preserve from infectious disease. Well, brethren, certain I am it is so with Christ. You have to go into the world which is like a great lazar-house; but if you carry Christ with you, you will never catch the world's disease. A man may be worth never so much money, he will never get worldly if he keepeth Christ on his heart. A man may have to tug and toil for his livelihood, and be very poor, he will never be discontented and murmuring if he lives close to Christ. O you who have to handle the world, see to it that you handle the Master more than the world. Some of you have to work with drunken and swearing men; others are cast into the midst of frivolities O take my Master with you! and sin's plagues can have no influence upon your moral nature. But myrrh was believed by the ancient physicians to do more than this it was a cure it did not merely prevent, but it healed. I do not know how many diseases are said to be healed by the use of myrrh, nor do I altogether suppose that these Oriental physicians spoke from facts, for they were too much given to ascribe qualities to drugs, which those drugs did not possess; however even modern physicians believe myrrh to have many valuable medical properties. Certain is it that your Christ is the best medicine for the soul. His name is Jehovah Rophi "I am the Lord that healeth them." When we see Luke called "the beloved physician," we almost grudge him the name. I will take it from him and give it to my Master, for he deserves it far more than Luke. The beloved physician! he touched the leper, and he was made whole. He did but look upon those who were lame. and they leaped as a hart. His voice startled the silence of Hades, and brought back the soul to the body. What cannot Christ do? He can heal anything. You who are sick this morning, sick with doubts and fears, you who are sick with temptation, you who struggle with an angry temper, or with the death-like sleep of sloth, get Christ, and you are healed. Here all things meet, and in all these things we may say, "A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me." I have not done yet, for myrrh was used in the East as a beautifier. We read of Esther, that before she was introduced to Ahasuerus, she and the virgins were bidden to prepare themselves, and among other things, they used myrrh. The belief of Oriental women was, that it removed wrinkles and stains from the face, and they used it constantly for the perfecting of their charms. I do not know how that may be, but I know that nothing makes the believer so beautiful as being with Christ. He is beautiful in the eyes of God, of holy angels, and of his fellow-men. I know some Christians whom it is a great mercy to speak to: if they come into your cottage, they leave behind them tokens of remembrance, in the choice words they utter. To get them into the Church is a thousand mercies, and if they join the Sunday-school, of what value they are! Let me tell you that the best gauge of a Christian's usefulness will be found in the degree in which he has been with Jesus and learned of him. Do not tell me it is the scholar, do not say to me it is the man of eloquence, do not say it is the man of substance well we would have all these consecrate what they have to Christ but it is the man of God who is the strong man; it is the man who has been with Jesus who is the pillar of the Church; and a light to the world. O brethren, may the beauty of the Lord be upon us through being much with Christ. And I must not close this point without saying that myrrh might well be used as an emblem of our Lord from its connection with sacrifice. It was one of the precious drugs used in making the holy oil with which the priests were anointed and the frankincense which burned perpetually before God. It is this, the sacrificial character of Christ, which is at the root and bottom of all that Christ is most precious to his people. O Lamb of God our sacrifice, we must remember thee. 2. Now there has been enough, surely, said about the myrrh. Have patience while we just notice that he is called a bundle of myrrh, or as some translate it, a bag of myrrh, or a box of myrrh. There were three sorts of myrrh; there was the myrrh in sprigs, which being burnt made a sweet smell; then there was myrrh, a dried spice; and then thirdly, there was myrrh a flowing oil. We do not know to which there is reference here. But why is it said "a bundle of myrrh?" First, for the plenty of it. He is not a drop of it, he is a casket full. He is not a sprig or flower of it, but a whole bundle full. There is enough in Christ for my necessities. There is more in Christ than I shall ever know perhaps more than I shall understand even in heaven. A bundle again, for variety; for there is in Christ not only the one thing needful, but "ye are complete in him;" there is everything needful. Take Christ in his different characters, and you will see a marvellous variety prophet, priest, king, husband, friend, shepherd. Take him in his life, death, resurrection, ascension, second advent, take him in his virtue, gentleness, courage, self-denial, love, faithfulness, truth, righteousness everywhere it is a bundle. Some of God's judgments are manifold, but all God's mercies are manifold, and Christ being the sum of God's mercies, hath in fold upon fold of goodness. He is "a bundle of myrrh" for variety. He is a bundle of myrrh again, for preservation not loose myrrh to be dropped on the floor or trodden on, but myrrh tied up, as though God bound up all virtues and excellencies in his Son: not myrrh spilt on the ground, but myrrh in a box myrrh kept in a casket. Such is Christ. The virtue and excellence which goeth out of Christ is quite as strong today as in the day when the woman touched the hem of his garment and was healed. "Able to save unto the uttermost them that come unto God through him," is he still unto this hour. A bundle of myrrh again, to shew how diligently we should take care of it. We must bind him up, we must keep our thoughts of him and knowledge of him as under lock and key, lest the devil should steal anything from us. We must treasure up his words, prize his ordinances, obey his precepts, tie him up and keep him ever with us as a precious bundle of myrrh. And yet again, a bundle of myrrh for speciality, as if he were not common myrrh for everybody. No, no, no; there is distinguishing, discriminating grace a bundle tied up for his people and labelled with their names from before the foundation of the world. No doubt there is an allusion here to the scent bottle used in every land. Jesus Christ is a bottle of myrrh, and he doth not give forth his smell to everybody but to those who know how to draw forth the stopper, who understand how to get into communion with him, to have close dealings with him. He is not myrrh for all who are in the house but for those who know how to put the bottle to their nostrils and receive the sweet perfume. Oh! blessed people whom the Lord hath admitted into his secrets! Oh! choice and happy people who are thus made to say "A bottle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me." But I am afraid I tire you, especially those of you who do not know anything about my subject. There are some such here who know no more about what I am talking of than if they were Mahometans. They are listening to a new kind of religion now. The religion of Christ is as high above them as is the path of the eagle above that of the fish, and as much hidden from them as the way of the serpent on the rock from the eye of man. This is a path which the eagle's eye hath not seen, nor hath the lion's whelp trodden it; but I trust there are some here who know it. III. Our third remark was to be that with a sense of Christ's preciousness is combined A CONSCIOUSNESS OF POSSESSION. It is "my well-beloved." My dear hearer, is Christ your well-beloved? A Savior that is well; but my Savior that is the best of the best. What is the use of bread if it is not mine? I may die of hunger. Of what value is gold, if it be not mine? I may yet die in a workhouse. I want this preciousness to be mine. "My well-beloved." Have you ever laid hold on Christ by the hand of faith? Will you take him again this morning, brethren, in Jesus? I know you will. Would that those who never did take him, would take him now and say, "My saviour." There stands his atonement, freely offered to you, may you have the grace to take it, and say, "My Savior, my Savior," this morning. Has your heart taken him? It is well for us to use both hands, not only the hand of faith, but the hand of love, for this is the true embrace when both arms meet around our beloved. Do you love him? O souls, do you LOVE Christ, with an emphasis upon the word. Do not talk to me about a religion which dwells in the head and never gets into the heart. Get rid of it as quickly as you can; it will never bring you to heaven. It is not "I believe this and that" merely, but "I love." Ah! some who have been great fools in doctrine have been very wise in love. We tell our children to learn things "by heart." I think you can, you love Jesus, and if you cannot you must confess as I do,

"A very wretch, Lord, I should prove, Had I no love to thee; Sooner than not my Savior love, O may I cease to be."

But that is not the only word. "A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me." That is not a redundant expression, "unto me." He is not so to many. Ah! my Lord is a root out of a dry ground to multitudes. A three-volume novel suits them better than his Book. They would sooner go to a play or a dance than they would have any fellowship with him. They can see the beauties upon the cheeks of this Jezebel world, but they cannot see the perfections of my Lord and Master. Well! well! well! Let them say what they will, and let them think as they please, every creature hath its own joy, but "a bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me" unto me unto me, and if there is not another who finds him so, yet "a bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me." I would it were not with others as it is I would that others did think so also of him; but let them say what they will, they shall not drive me out of my knowledge of this "a bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me." The infidel saith, "There is no God." The atheist would altogether laugh me to scorn. They shall say what they will, but "a bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me." Even bishops have been found who will take away a part of his Book, and so rend his garments, and rob him; and there be some who say his religion is out of date, and grace has lost his power; and they go after philosophy and vain conceit, and I know not what, but "a bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me." They may have no nostril for him, they may have no desire after him; so let it be, but "a bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me." I know there are some who say they have tried him and not found him sweet, and who have turned away from him and gone back to the beggarly elements of the world because they see nothing in Christ that they should desire him; but "a bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me." Ah! Christian, this is what you want, a personal experience, a positive experience; you want to know for yourself; for there is no religion which is worth a button which is not burnt into you by personal experience; and there is no religion worth a straw which does not spring from your soul, which does lay not hold upon the very vitals of your spirit. Yes, you must say I hope you can say as you go down those steps this morning, and enter again to-morrow into that busy, giddy world you must say, "Let the whole world go astray, 'a bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me.'" IV. Now the practical point closes it. A SENSE OF POSSESSION AND A SENSE OF ENJOYMENT WILL ALWAYS LEAD THE CHRISTIAN TO DESIRE CONSTANT FELLOWSHIP. "He" or rather "it shall lie all night betwixt my breasts." The Church does not say, "I will put this bundle of myrrh on my shoulders" Christ is no burden to a Christian. She does not say, "I will put this bundle of myrrh on my back" the Church does not want to have Christ concealed from her face. She desires to have him where she can see him, and near to her heart. The bundle of myrrh shall lie all night upon my heart. The words "All night" are not in the original; I do not know how they got into the translation. He is to be always there, not only all night but all day. It would be always night if he were not there, and it cannot be night when he is there, for

"Midst darkest shade, if he appear, My dawning has begun."

He shall always be upon our heart. I think that expression just means these three things. It is an expression of desire her desire that she may have the consciousness of Christ's love continually. Do not you feel the same desire. O Christian, if thou hast ever been made like the chariots of Amminadib, it will be ill for thee if thou canst be content to be otherwise. If thou hast but once tasted Christ, thou wilt wait to feed upon him all day and all night, and as long as thou livest. My desire is that Jesus may abide with me from morn till even, in the world and in the Church, when I awake, when I sleep, when I go abroad, and when I come home into the bosom of my family. Is not that your desire that he may be always with you? But then, it is not only her desire, but it is also her confidence. She seems to say, "He will be with me thus." You may have a suspension of visible fellowship with Christ, but Christ never will go away from people really. He will be all night betwixt your breasts; he will at all times abide faithful to you. He may close his eyes and hide his face from you, but his heart never can depart from you. He has set you as a seal upon his heart, and increasingly will make you sensible of it. Recollect there is no suspension of Christ's union with his people, and no suspension of those saving influences which always make his people to stand complete in him. To conclude, this is also a resolve. She desires, she believes, and she resolves it. Lord, thou shalt be with me, thou shalt be with me always. I appeal to you, brethren, will you not make this resolve in God's strength this morning to cling close to Christ. Do not go talking, as you go home, about all sorts of nonsense; do not spend this afternoon in communion with folly and vanity, but throughout this day let your soul keep to Christ, to nothing but Christ. This evening we shall come to his table, to eat bread and drink wine, in remembrance of him, let us try if we can, that nothing shall make us give up Christ all this day. Have you got him, hold him and do not let him go till you bring him to your mother's house, to the chamber of her who bare you. Then there will be the family prayer at night. O, seek to keep him till you put your head upon the pillow. And then, on Monday morning, some of you have to go to work, and as soon as you get into the workshop or the factory, you say, "Now I must lose my Master." No, do not lose him. Hold him fast when your hand plies the hammer, and when your fingers hold the needle, still cling to him, in the market or in the exchange, on board ship, or in the field, do not let him go. You may have him with you all day. The Mahometan usually wears a piece of the Koran round his neck, and one, when converted to Christianity, put his New Testament in a little silken bag, and always wore it there. We need not such outward signs, but let us always have the Savior there; let us hang him about our neck as a charm against all evil; seek his blessed company, place him as a star upon your breast to be your honor and joy. Well, I have done, but I must have a word with the unconverted. There are some who can say, "I will have Christ always on my tongue." Away with tongue religion. You must have him on your heart. Ah! there are some who say, "I hope I shall have Christ on my heart in all eternity." You cannot have Christ in eternity if you do not have him in time. If you despise him to-day in this life, he will reject you to-morrow in the world to come; and if he call and you refuse, one day you will call and he refuse. Do not put up with desires merely, dear friends some of you have desires, and nothing more. Do not only desire Christ, but get him. Do not stop short with saying, "I should like to have him in my heart;" give no sleep to your eyes nor slumber to your eyelids, till by humble faith you have taken Christ to be your all in all. May the Lord bless these poor words, for Jesus' sake. Amen.