Solomon's Song iii. 1–4

SOLOMON’S SONG in. 1 — 4.

By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: 1 sought him, but I found him not. I will rise now, and go about the city; in the streets and in the broad ways, y n-itl seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought linn, but 1 found him not. The watchmen that go about the city found me: to whom I said, Saw ye him whom my soul loveth? It was but a little that I passed from them, but I found him H’hom my soul loveth: I held him and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mother’s house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me.

THE Bride, the Church of the Lord, or the individual believing Soul, opens to us in the text the treasury of her spiritual experience, and displays to us glimpses of her inward conflicts, to which some amongst us will, doubtless, find a key in their own Christian experience. O how deep and important the truth unfolded to our view in the narration of the Bride! That which binds us to Christ should not only be the sweet savor of his benefits, but, moreover, the painful sense of our poverty and misery. May our meditations this day lead us to a deeper insight into the meaning of this great truth. With continual reference to ourselves, let us consider the Bride in the fourfold state in which she appears to us in the text..

I. How she revels in spiritual abundance. II. How she loseth what she had, and languishes in banishment.

III. How she is engaged in a fruitless search.

IV. How she findeth, never to lose again.

I. — By night on my bed I sought him.’ Sought whom? ‘Him whom my soul loveth — Christ, the fairest of the sons of men; Christ, the heavenly Bridegroom.’ Him the complaining soul had had upon her couch. Delightful figure, by which the entire blessedness of her former state is indicated! She had had the Lord upon her couch. To have the Lord upon our couch, what else can it mean, than to dwell with him and in him, to have the most lively consciousness of his blissful presence, to enjoy his favor, to be filled with the most devout and ardent feelings of love and tenderness towards him, and with the purest joy and delight in the contemplation of his person, his acts and words! To have the Lord upon our couch, what is it, but to possess the assurance of his attachment and love, and an inward joyful conviction of our interest in his promises and declarations; to be animated with devout emotions, and with lively impulse to praise and magnify him, to rejoice, and to exult in him.

Let us look back upon the declarations of the Bride in the former verses of her song. When she exultingly declared, ‘The savor of thy ointments is delightful; thy name is as ointment poured forth.’ When she exrlainis, * My beloved is -to me as a cluster of carnphire in the vineyards of En-gedi. Behold thou art fair, my love; behold thou art fair. As the apple-tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste. He brought me to the banqueting-house, and his banner over me was love. Stay me with thy flagons, comfort me with apples; for I am sick of love. My beloved is mine, and I am his; he feedeth among the lilies.’ As she thus sang and rejoiced, and when there was melody in her heart, then she had him whom her soul loved, upon her couch.

This sweet and delightful state, in which we may be said to have the Lord upon our couch, is generally experienced in the early period of conversion. Under the almighty influence of the Spirit of God, the delusions that had obscured the barrenness of our heart and life, gradually melt away like snow. It rends the veil of self-deception; and, before we are aware, our entire destitution of peace and joy is presented to our view, though we had. till then deemed ourselves full and in need of nothing. We feel voids that must be filled up, and spiritual wants that must be satisfied. We find it is not with us as it should be, and we become deeply impressed with the necessity of a change. Words and actions, sentiments and pursuits, which have hitherto appeared correct and good, begin to disturb us; and we feel an inward gnawing, like the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched. Then we run to and fro to seek a cure, and how we may still the raging thirst of the soul. But this world is not Gilead; and its reliefs, counsels, and consolations are broken cisterns, that can hold no water. The stronger this feeling becomes the greater our depression and grief, till at length there is an end of all joy, the sluices of sorrow are opened, and laughing is turned into bitter weeping. The Spirit breathes upon the soul; the icy bands of natural pride and impenitence begin to fall asunder, and the sinner beholds his misery, divested of every covering. Where now shall he look for help? Behold even here the work of grace; a Hand in the cloud which guides securely, and never leads astray. He comes to Jesus, sighs and implores for mercy: and having received an answer in his soul, that sweet season commences, when, like the Bride, he has the Lord upon his couch. How delightful his sensations! What a life compared with the poor miserable existence afforded by the world! Let us call to mind our own experience, when our spiritual affections possessed their early freshness. We could then, like children, shed tears of joyful emotion, as often as we perused the. Scriptures, or reflected on the faithfulness of the Lord, on his word and history. How great was then our joy, when we heard his name preached, and his people bear testimony to his faithfulness 1 With what ardor we were filled when his praises were sung; with what fervor we prayed, with what necessity, with what desire and love! How strongly were we then incited to speak of him, and thought to convert the world at once, and to proclaim his name from the house tops, and in the streets! Then we gloried in difficulties, that we might overcome them in the strength of the Lord; and we sought for living stones, wherewith lily to erect a temple to our God. How incomprehensible it appeared to us, that other Christians were so .still, so calm and composed; that they did not participate in the fulness of our joy, or join in our triumphal song; that they even uttered sighs and complaints, while we imagined that with sighing and complaining wr had for ever done! Do you still recollect this time? Then, in this sense, in which the Bride in the text meant it, we had the Lord upon our couch.

This state was sweet and blessed; but the welfare of our souls required that it should not be perpetual. The Lord in his own time had to lead us forth from this Goshen of spiritual pleasures, from this luxurious pasture of mental enjoyment. For did we not surely begin to be presumptuous, considering ourselves as great saints, and distinguished from others, on account of our blissful serenity of soul? Had we not begun, whilr rejoicing in our wealth, to be ashamed of the beggar’s staff; and had not the sense of need abated, which had compelled us to knock at the door of mercy, and to prostrate ourselves at the rich man’s gate, with the poor and destitute? Was it not in reality far more our own piety and fulness of delight, on which we built and rested, and for which we hoped to escape condemnation, than Christ and his merits? Were we not already seeking the foundation of our future bliss in ourselves, instead of witlwut ourselves, in Christ crucified? And did we not love the bread with which Christ fed us, and the wine which he gave us to drink, much more than himself? We loved and clung to him, it is true — but with what sort of love? Was it the intense, holy, stedfast love, which is grounded on the consciousness that Christ is our Surety, who hath redeemed our souls from hell, and rescued us from consuming fire? Was it a love based on the humiliating thought: I am not worthy that the sun should shine upon me, yet Christ has descended from.heaven for my sake, to save my soul from hell, and to purchase it with his own life? Was it that attachment and clinging to him which spring from the most lively perception of our entire destitution, nothingness, and impotency, and from the conviction that it is on the grace of Christ alone we exist every moment? Oh no, so far our glance did not extend, neither into the abyss of our own ruin, nor into the depths of the merits of Christ. We had merely skimmed the pool of our misery, and the unfathomable ocean of the Redeemer’s love and mercy. Our love to him could, therefore, be only superficial. Single sins had, indeed, presented themselves to our view, but not yet our entire sinfulness; this and that transgression, but not the entire desolation and corruption of our heart; one deformity and another, but not the pernicious sap which pervades us, not the whole image of Belial that we bear within us. In one word: we had adhered to Christ more for the sweet savor of his gifts, than from a sense of our misery, and of His being indispensable to our salvation. This wTas a lax and weak band, a love which every wind of temptation might destroy — -not an ardent glow, strong as death, and unchangeable as hell — which many waters cannot quench.

II. — But that we may attain unto that perfect state, in which we cling to Christ, no longer for the mere pleasure we enjoy in his presence, but because of the misery we experience in ourselves; no longer for the apples and flowers with which he has regaled us, but behe is necessary to our eternal salvation; not for the pleasurable feelings and delightful hours enjoyed in his kingdom, but because apart from him we feel ourselves abandoned to the wrath and fiery indignation of God, and to all the powers of darkness. That our attitude may be that of exclusive dependence upon him; that lr may hang upon his neck and say, ‘Lord Jesus, do with me what thou wilt, refresh me or not, fill my heart with manna, or let me suffer want — to thee I cling; for where thou art not, I shall perish in my misery; for out of thee all is darkness, death, and hell,’ — that this may be our state, the Lord generally proceeds with us, as he did with the Bride. In his own time he changes the sunshine in our souls into the gloom of night, and withdraws from us all consolation. * By night upon my couch I sought him whom my soul loveth,’ says the Bride; ‘I sought him but I found him not.’ It had become night with her, and she was forced to complain, 1 1 have lost the Lord.’

It has become night in us, in the sense intended by the Bride, when the consciousness of the blissful presence of the Lord has departed from us, and the soul no longer retains any perception of the felicity enjoyed at his right hand. It is become night when the flow of holy feeling and emotion is dried up, and our joy in the Lord and all that is his., has expired within us. It is night when the word that we read no longer affects us, when its promises leave the soul cold and insensible; when the sermons we hear afford no enjoyment, and the worship of God, once our most joyous employment, has become a burden; when we are no longer impelled to pour forth our souls in prayer and praise, and when the most sacred engagements do not cause the heart to overflow with holy joy and delightful emotion. Then it is become night! 0 deplorable state! When the spikenard of our spiritual knowledge has lost its fragrance; when the grapes on the Gospel- vine yield for us no juice, and the flowers no perfume; when our hearts are become barren, and our spiritual tongue cleaves to the roof of our mouth. Then we are full of complaint and lamentation; we are cast down and know neither counsel nor consolation; for the prop on which we had leaned was not the merit of Christ, but our own feelings; and this prop is now broken. The foundation, on which the superstructure of our hopes had been erected, was not the beam of the cross, but the loose ground of our own piety and lively sensations; we had been accustomed to look more to ourselves than to Christ; our confidence had been our love to the Lord, not his love to us. Therefore a cloud no sooner dims the bright glow of our sensations and feelings, than we find ourselves deprived of the consolations of Christ, and. are forced to complain, with the Bride: We have. lost the Lord.

III. — We will now examine what further occurs in tiii- state of destitution and banishment, when the luxuriant spring-time of our soul is changed into the chill of winter, and the melody within us has ceased; when the heart, once so animated, sensitive, and happy, has become a barren sand. We see it in the Bride. When it had become night in her, she resolved: * I will arise and seek him whom my soul loveth.” Yes, I will! I will!’ By this we perceive how little she knows herself. I will arise, will restore myself, will take possession of the paradise I have lost, and of my former blissful state. I will again warm and animate my heart, will again acquire my former joyfulness and my former delight in prayer and praise. Yes, what is there that she will not do? WTell, let her resolve, let her strive. On the path she has entered she will make wonderfully wholesome discoveries. It is a path of sorrow, but its end is joy and peace.

* I will arise.5 Whither will she go 1 ‘I will go about the city, in the streets, and in the broad ways. I will seek him whom my soul loveth.’ In the city? yes, in the spiritual Jerusalem; in the kingdom of God; in the congregation of the faithful; there she hopes to regain the exquisite felicity she has lost. But alas! we hear her complain, * I sought but found him not.’ What the Bride here confesses, have we not all here experienced 1 When that night overshadowed us, we also imagined we could ourselves rekindle joy in the soul, again render our barren hearts fruitful. We also could exclaim: ‘I will! I will!’ as if all had been within our grasp. Then we also arose, and went about the streets of Jerusalem; tried every means, and hoped to force the waters of spiritual consolation again to flow; but ah, ‘I sought, but found him not.’

We had resource to heart-stirring, beautifully spiritual books, which we allowed to preach to us, in the hope thus to obtain relief, and to re-animate our stagnant feelings. But, alas! the books seem stale and insipid, and left us as we were, dull and cheerless. We sought, but found not. We hastened to the assemblies of the saints, where the love of Christ was joyfully proclaimed; where his praises resounded in spiritual songs, and fervent prayers ascended to heaven; here we expected a joyful spirit would again possess us, that our hearts would melt, and our tongues be loosened. But we sought and found not. While the eloquence of others flowed like living waters, and their prayers were ardent, we were speechless, or uttered empty words; they spread the wings of devotion, and soared on high; we too essayed to rise, but we had no wings to spread. We forced ourselves to sing, but the song died upon our lips, unresponded by our hearts. We sought, but found not. We eagerly thronged to whatever was solemn and sublime, hoping that there our icy hearts would melt again; and there we should again taste that joy, which is eternal, at the right hand of God. But it was and remained night; and it seemed as if no spring would succeed the winter in our souls. We sought, but found not. We wearied ourselves in the streets of Jerusalem, and fatigued our friends with our complaints; we rer sorted to every expedient to refresh and invigorate our hearts; but we had still to complain with the Bride:

* I sought, but found him not.’ The Bride meets with the watchmen who go about the city. The watchmen — who are they? We, the ambassadors for Christ, whose business it is to go about Jerusalem; to watch for the safety of the city; to arouse those found slumbering in burning houses, and on the edge of precipices; to conduct those walking in their sleep from the dangerous rocks on which they climb; to warn those who stray from the path of life, and comfort those who sit solitary and weep; to encourage those who lie breathless in the streets unable to proceed. Yes, the watchmen are the Stewards over God’s mysteries. To them the Bride came, and addressed the inquiry: ‘Saw ye him whom my soul loveth V- Amongst them she expected certainly to find what she sought; but even this last hope deceived her. Here too she was constrained to exclaim: i I sought; but found him not.’ Exhortation, counsel, and instruction enough; but no life, no joy, no interest in the Lord and his cause, nothing of that which she desired. She had now wearied herself in the streets of Jerusalem, had tried every thing; but still she remains) and complains, ‘I sought, but found him not.’

IV. — It would now seem as if the Bride were for ever cut off from all salvation; and yet her salvation was never so near as at this moment. She had now reached the point of connection and union with Christ, which is eternal. She had made great efforts to rekindle her love for Christ, his kingdom, and his cause, but all in vain; and even amongst the watchmen who go about the city, she had not recovered what she had lost.

Lifeless as she had come to them, had she again departed. And as she proceeded a little onward, there — Well, what happened there? There, methinks she first paused, communicating with her disconsolate heart, and felt, for the first time in her life, with the full clearness and force of truth, the worthlessness of man and all his acts, and that sin hath sunk him into the most abject helplessness. Nay, that so deplorable is his state, and he is so inwardly dead, that, of himself, he is incapable of gratitude towards the greatest of all benefactors, the most faithful of all friends; that he cannot even open his mouth in praise and thankfulness to him, who, beyond all in heaven and on earth, is worthy to receive glory and honor, thanksgiving and praise; that of himself he is unable to rejoice in the greatest blessings, or elevate his heart in prayer to God; that he cannot excite in himself any desire after the Lord and his benefits j and that even the best adapted means are insufficient to dissolve his rocky heart in devotion, love, and holy joy. This she had never dreamt! Indeed how could it have occurred to her, that human nature was so debased? But now experience had opened her eyes to behold, for the first time, its complete corruption; to perceive, that the natural life was in reality death, and not life, now for the first time she felt how deep her fall, how weak and barren her life and will, how great her ruin, and need of help. Hitherto she had desired from her Bridegroom nothing but kindness, pleasure, and refreshment: now she requires a surety to appear for her, a mediator to undertake for her, an intercessor to plead for her before the judgment seat, a renovator to mould her into something on which the eye of God might rest with delight. All this she found in him, who had till no w been nothing more to her than a beloved friend, that had cheered her life and rejoiced her heart; but now how infinitely precious had he become. When she had passed on a little, she exclaims; ‘I found him whom my soul loveth!’

Was it not the same with us? At first we, too, attached ourselves to the Lord, more for the delight we had in him and in his words, than because without him we felt ourselves to be eternally lost. But this was a slender attachment, a feeble love; transient as the pleasurable emotions which called them forth. When they vanished, and the table at which we had been regaled, was removed, then, alas! we fell away from Christ, and ••Mild deny him ten times in a breath, and in various ways. But when enlightened by the Spirit, we knew ourselves as lost, as ruined creatures, and were enabled to discover in Christ a Savior, whose hand alone could snatch us from eternal flames, our attachment to and our connection with him assumed a new and very different character.

I hold him, thfr Bride joyfully exclaims, and will not let him go. And why will she not let him go? Because he fills her heart with joy, and is the source of many delights. The Bride, if in our midst, would reply; Though he left me to languish, and suffered me not to taste of his loveliness, I hold him, and will not let him go, because I know that he alone can save me from eternal death. * I hold him, and will not let him s;o.’ Why not? Because he sweetens her life, and richly provides for all her necessities? Oh no, oh no, she would reply; though he gave me gall to drink in this life, I know that he alone can. conduct me safely through the gloomy portals of eternity, and the fiery scrutiny of the last judgment: therefore I hold him, and will not let him go. ‘I hold him, and will not let him go.’ And why not? Because he can help her to attain that righteousness which is approved before God. Help, the Bride would exclaim: I cannot furnish any thing to adorn myself for the great wedding? He must, and he alone can, clothe me in the garments of salvation, in which to appear before God. Therefore I hold him, and will not let him go, but surrender myself entirely into his hands. ( I hold him, and will not let him go,’ she exultingly exclaims — or rather the Spirit within her — ( till I have brought him into my mother’s house.’ What are we, then, to understand by her mother’s house? Paul says, (Gal. iv. 26,) But Jerusalem which is above is free, which is the mother of us all.” There she will bring her Surety7, and there be brought by him. Now, beloved, we behold a soul by the grace and guidance of the Lord, united to Christ; not as formerly, by a sense of the abundance of joy which is derived from him, but by a feeling of its poverty and great misery; not by the experience, ( It is good to be here,’ but by the thorough conviction that without him hell, death, and ruin are its portion. It recognizes in him now, not merely a Comforter, but a Savior; and, conscious of its own frailty, it no longer hopes for eternal life as the reward of love to the Lord, or leans on its pious emotions: but it rests exclusively on the merits of Christ; and it can say with Asaph, in Psalm lxxiii., * Whom have I in heaven but thee 1 and there is none upon the earth that I desire beside thee. My flesh and my heart faileth; but God is the strength of my heart, and ray portion for ever.’ May the Lord thus guide us, one and all; and may the consciousness of our worthlessness form the chain which hinds us to him; and his merit and love to sinners be the rock on which our peace is founded.