Solomon's Song ii. 14

O my .dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

WHOSE voice is it we have just heard? It is the voice of the fairest of the children of men; the heavenly Bridegroom speaks to Shulamite, his dearly purchased church — or to individual souls affianced and wedded to Him in faith. Sweeter than milk and honey are the words which flow from his lips; and when the Bride afterwards so joyously exclaims, c Thy lips, O my spouse drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue;’ she does so, undoubtedly, in the blissful recollection of this address of her Bridegroom, and of the soul-refreshing words: ‘My dove in the clefts of the rocks, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.’

We will now consider the words more closely: and may the Lord abundantly refresh us from this fountain of living waters!

I. Let us contemplate the dove in the clefts of the rocks.

II. Then, consider what the Bridegroom intends by this address to her; * Let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice.’

I. — My dove.’ — Thus the Lord addresses the elect. He calls them frequently by this tender epithet. In the tilth chapter In ^,i v. ( )pn to me, my sister, my dove:’ and in another placej * My dove, my undefiled, is but one.’ But why are they addressed as doves? Is it on account of the splendid plumage, the righteousness of Christ, in which they are arrayed? As it is said, Psalm lxviii., * Though ye have lain among the pots, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove covered with silver, and her feathers as yellow gold.’ Or is it because of the gentle spirit of Jesus which is in them, and which once displayed itself visibly under the form of a dove? Or are they called doves, because they rise above the world; as Moses declares: ’ and thou shalt be above only, and thou shalt not be beneath V Doubtless all this appertains to the character. But if we take a diaper and more enlarged view of the figure, we shall find points of resemblance, between a soul converted to the Lord, and a dove, more numerous, and perhaps more attractive and striking.

If the lamb be excepted, there is no creature more defenceless than the dove. She has neither tooth nor claw, neither hoof nor sting, only a pair of wings for flight; in flight lies her entire strength and triumph. Thus, we confess it, whether it be to our honor or shame, thus it is with us, whom grace has transformed into the doves of Christ. Those who are out of Christ, are all stronger. What heroes do we not find amongst them! who think themselves equal to every encounter; who know nothing of fear and caution; whom no enemy can make tremble, no danger appals; and who would disdain to look for help in circumstances ever so perilous. They think to vanquish empires by the strength of their arm; to seize the promises as a prey; with the right hand of their own righteousness to stop the lion’s mouth; to extinguish the fires of the last judgment with self-acquired virtues; and to escape the edge of the sword by their own wisdom and dexterity. Of all this, like dreamers, they think themselves capable, through the power of their own might. Yea, what cowardly fugitives are we, when contrasted with those giants in virtue, who think to scatter their enemies like chaff; that sin, the world, and the devil, with every other bitter foe, shall fall before them; whilst we prepare for instant flight, if we but hear the distant roar ‘of the approaching lion. We venture on no contest alone; but as soon as the trumpet of conflict sounds, seeks protection behind the shield of our champion. They display a more heroic spirit; and, proudly scorning all support, rush, as if invulnerable, into the hottest fire of temptation; and, though vanquished, exult in the glory of falling on the scene of conflict, the field of honor. Such honor we disclaim. We are not such Anakim, such giants and lions. St. Paul, indeed, speaks of breastplates and armor; of the helmet, the shield, and the sword, with which we are equipped; and, judging from this description, we might be taken for wonderful heroes. But such is not his meaning.

As a dove escaped from the hawk, and safe in the shelter of her covert, may be said to be ajrmed against her foe, and to be covered with helmet and shield 5 in the same sense are we renowned in many parts of Scripture as formidable, as cased in armor, and terrible as an army. But like the dove, our entire strength and invincibility consists in flight, and in taking refuge; for we are defenceless in and by ourselves, and it has happened to us as it once happened to Saul — the Philistines have stripped us of our armor, and have deposited it in the house of Ashtaroth. Do Satanic temptations assail us? We hasten to Him who will be our house and our refuge, and there we are found secure. Do we hear the devil roar? We venture not to encounter him, well knowing it would be rushing immediately into his jaws. We cling to the Savior, and a wall of fire compasses us around. If the lusts of the flesh revive and stir within us — unlike those who strive to conquer them by firm resolves, and other self-devised expedients — we quickly fly to him who is our shield. And scarcely have we beheld his bleeding wounds, scarcely stammered forth a single * Lord Jesus,’ when the victory is ours; while they, with all their panoply of self- will and self-exertion, sink <!(•<•]> into the- mire. This is our method, and it is that of the dove. We by no means enter into any conflict; wt: seek our salvation solely in flight. Jesus is our armor: the shield that protects us; the helmet that screens us; the sword that defends, and the fortress that encircles us.

Doves, it is well known, love their accustomed dwelling-place. And would we ascertain whether we belong to the spiritual swarm of doves, we must minutely examine how we feel in the world, whether pleasure or pain; for by this we may know it. If we are the doves of Christ, born of him, we feel pain, anxiety, and fear, wherever he is not; and as this must ever be the case, it is impossible to experience the delights and comforts of home in worldly society, or .in worldly pursuits; on the contrary, we are uneasy and straitened, the heart is oppressed, and lifts its wings to seek a purer atmosphere. As a child among strangers is alarmed, and ceases not to inquire for its mother; and as the soul of an exile swells with inexpressible longings after the land which gave him birth; so feel the doves of Christ in the air of this world. Nay, in it they cannot live nor endure to the end; they must continually ask for their mother, and are no where so happy as in the air which encircles the mountains of Jerusalem. ‘In the world ye shall have tribulation,’ says Christ; this is one of the most infallible marks of a state of grace.

Whilst we are speaking of doves, some one amongst you may perhaps be reminded of the ancient well known, and so called carrier pigeon, and inquire whether there are no points of resemblance between spiritual doves, and them 1 Undoubtedly there are. They both are able to return to their homes, wherever placed. They have a free passage; and are ever willing to carry with them the burdens and messages of strangers.

When the fiery serpents came upon idolatrous Israel, the people themselves venture not before the Lord with their complaints, but applied to Moses to intercede for them; and he flew up to the house of the Lord, and poured the distress of Israel into the ears of an all merciful God; thus Moses became the carrier dove of his people. So David flew for Solomon, Lot for Zoar, Daniel for Jerusalem, and Job for his children — ascended on the wings of prayer, and brought the suit of those for whom they went forth before the Father’s throne. And when Jeroboam besought the man of God to pray that his withered hand might be restored; and Darius entreated the Jews to pray for the King’s life; and Simon requested the Apostles to pray, that none of the things which he had threatened might come upon him; — then the man of God, the Jews, and the Apostles were employed as carrier doves, to bring the affairs of those, who have themselves no wings, into the Father’s house. O all ye winged souls, who know the way above, and have free ingress and egress through the blood of Christ; disdain not ye likewise, to be the flying post between heaven and earth, and willing interposers between your brethren, who have as yet neither wings nor voice, and God. Carry not only your own burdens before the throne of grace, but likewise those of strangers. To be a dove of Christ; to have unrestrained access to Him, as to our house; to receive from his hand daily and hourly supplies of grace and mercy, and to drink of the pure fountains of Israel — truly this is a happy state! O that God would form all our souls in this dovelike manner, to this dovelike state.

But to return to our text. * My dove,’ says the Lord. Where is this dove now to be found? where is her place? Ezekiel once speaks of doves of the mountains, all of them mourning for their iniquity. Shall we meet our dove there? No; once, it is true, she may have had her seat amongst them, mourning and sighing with them, in ashes; but now she has soared upwards from this gloomy region and vale of tears, and dwells elsewhere. Isaiah beholds from a great distance a whole swarm of doves flying as a cloud. Is ours perhaps amongst them? No, our dove has already reached the windows, towards which they are only flying. Noah’s first dove, as you know, fluttered restlessly over the surface of the waters, and found no resting place. So flutter many. Does our dove rer semble Noah’s 1 Not at all: our dove has found rest for the sole of her foot, and the olive tree on whose crown to alight. She is in the clefts of the rock. ‘My dove is in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs,’ says the Lord. Now behold this weak and defenceless bird, seated proudly and securely in her rock, like a king in his castle, or a chieftain in his camp, bidding defiance to the whole world. No fowler can reach, no hawk penetrate her dwelling; no serpent cast its venom so high; and though the beasts of prey that roam the valley, howl amongst themselves, the dove in her fortress can laugh and look calmly down upon the tumult. Clouds roll their thunders over them: but she has no fear. Lightnings flash fiercely around; but the rock is not melted in this fire. Mountains sink before the storm, and mighty forests are laid waste; but the foundations of her house stand fast.

The dove then dwells in the clefts of the rocks. If we now abandon the figure, and judge the subject spiritually, the rock will be Christ, the rock of salvation, and the clefts his bleeding wounds, in which rests, like a dove, every believing and accepted soul. Of a truth it has found a safe retreat. Not so you, who are firmly nested in the dry brambles of your own righteousness. Behold the branches will be burned in the fire of the judgment, and oh! the poor bird with them. Not ye, who depend upon your own piety, and expect salvation from it. Oh! believe it, that in the day of judgment this will be counted as stubble, which is cast into the oven, but not as a ground of your redemption. But our dove has found a Zoar, not in herself; for there she could only discover what merited condemnation; nor in her own works and feelings; of these she could only exclaim, Unclean! unclean! She was not so foolish as to dream of gathering grapes on the shores of the Dead Sea. She found her rest, and the certainty of her salvation and future bliss, not in herself, but in the wounds of Christ, in his bleeding merits and atoning death. Her mind was so staid and governed that she knew herself just before God, not on account of the new life that had sprung up within her, but only on account of the blood-shedding of her surety. And this is the foundation which is firm and abiding, when every thing else sinks and passes away.

Of him, whose salvation is firmly settled on the perfect satisfaction rendered by his Surety, whose hopes centre in the merits of the true Paschal Lamb, and who esteems himself secure in Christ alone — of him, it may well be said: * Behold a dove in the clefts of a high rock, and in the secret places of the stairs!’ No prince was ever so securely entrenched behind his fortifications, his ramparts and walls, as this dove. Moses is a skilful archer, and sends out curses; but here he may leave his skill; no ban can disturb, no curse affect, this dove. For her silence of night reigns on Sinai and Ebal, and the wild flames of fire are quenched in the blood of the Redeemer. The subtilty of Satan is foiled; he may indeed go about the rock, and roar, but he cannot seize the dove, without swallowing the rock itself, in which she dwells. Should even her love decline, and her faith glimmer as an expiring light; should her zeal cool, and her heart become steril, as a barren sand; yet is she safe, for, God be thanked! her faith, her zeal, her love, are not her resting place; her stronghold and her fortress are alone the blessed wounds of Christ. In this frame she is ever fair in the sight of God; and though miserable herself, she shines as a crown of gold in the hand of the Lord. And supposing the Eternal would consume her, as a devouring flame; in this palace she is stronger than the anger of God, and conquers the Eternal in his wrath. I therefore call upon you all, in the words of Jeremiah, ’ 0 ye that dwell in Moab, leave the cities, and dwell in the rock, and be like the dove that maketh her nest in the sides of the hole’s mouth.’

II. — We have now contemplated the dove in her secure retreat, after she has renounced all self-dependence, and, despairing of herself, has taken shelter in the clefts of the rock, the rock of Christ’s merits. Let us now” listen to the voice of the Bridegroom. My dove,’ he cries, ’ my dove in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is lovely.’ What does the Lord mean by this address; how is he to be understood; and what secret motive may have prompted it? To me it appears thus: —

The Lord will see the countenance of his dove and hear her voice, because her voice is sweet, and her countenance is comely. By her countenance is intended the golden plumage, the imputed righteousness of of Christ, in which she is adorned; the new life in God, the new creature within her, the man of light for whom the world is become too narrow; the faith with which she is filled, the peace and tranquillity which take possession of her pardoned soul; it is her illumination, her holy longing and desires, and her inward, constant, spontaneous resistance to all darkness and sin — all these belong to the countenance of the dove. Her voice is the incense of prayer and supplication, of praise and adoration, kindled by the Spirit’s sacred fire. This is the voice the Lord wishes to hear, and this is the countenance he desires to behold. Do you wonder that he should desire this? Is it not said (Psalm civ. 31.) 1 The Lord shall rejoice in his works?’ He is himself the perfection of beauty, and his pleasure is to behold himself, and all that has proceeded from him. The Seraphim around his throne are his delight, because he sees in them, as in a mirror, his own glorious image. But he rejoices still more to view it in the dark ground of the sinner’s soul.

The morning stars proclaim his praise, even in their silence; and they display with astonishing lustre the purity of him who made them. But of all his works none so loudly declare his praise, as the work of grace in the sinner’s heart. With inexpressible glory his power and love are there exhibited. Imagine, a sinner worthy only of condemnation, becoming at once holy; as David in the same breath declares: I am poor and needy, I am holy; a servant of the wicked one transformed into a dear child of God: a creature of darkness becomes light, like the sun, because its light is come; dead wood begins to put forth and bud; and in miry clay begins to be formed the image of the Godhead. What a manifestation of the glory of the Lord! How grand, how amazing an exhibition of the glory of his name, of his infinite power and inscrutable mercy!

And shall the Lord not find pleasure in the work of his hand? He desires to see this work, and rejoice to contemplate himself in it. c Shew me thy countenance and let me hear thy voice; for thy voice is sweet, and thy countenance is comely.” But why c shew me thy countenance V why ’ let me hear thy voice?’ What does the Bridegroom mean? Is not the Bride always looking towards him? Does she not live and move in him? Does he not behold her every moment? Why then this call to shew her countenance? And does he not hear her voice, in the inmost recesses of her soul 1 This voice is never silent to his ear. This is indeed all true. Yet, sometimes it pleases the Lord to require a more prominent display of what his grace has wrought in the secret sanctuary of the soul: partly, that those in whom his work is carried on may attain to clearer perceptions of it, and be incited to more elevated devotion; .partly to furnish a glorious spectacle to angels, and to the world, and to magnify his holy name in their eyes. With this view he leads his people from under the grateful shadow of the palm-trees of Elim, again into the wilderness; and calls them forth from tranquility and calm contemplation, into the tumult of life, into various perplexities, into night and gloom, where the light which his grace has transfused into them has opportunity to prove its existence, and to shine forth conspicuously. The severe trial which he suspended over Abraham, and the command, * Go, and sacrifice thy son whom thou lovest’ — what was it but the same call, though disguised, ‘My dove, shew me thy countenance, and let me hear thy voice.’ And, behold, the voice of this dove was sweet, and her countenance comely! The conflict with Jacob — for what purpose did it take place? That it might evince, how powerful the strength of the Lord is in our weakness; and what courage, what invincibility, he can infuse into a dismayed and fearful heart; and the countenance of this dove also was most comely in its appearance. Therefore know, all ye spiritual doves; if Jesus lead you in a similar way, if thick darkness encompass, or the flres of temptation rage around; if he rouse you from your security, and causes Laban to assail you from behind, and Esau from before; he only seeks in this way an opportunity, partly himself, to behold the work of grace within you, and partly to discover it to yourself and others; and in this gloomy dispensation the call goes forth to you, ‘My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.’

What we have now said is true, but whether it be also applicable to our dove in the Canticles is another question. I believe it is not. In my opinion it is not the intention of the Lord, in this instance, to call forth the soul from her tranquil and contemplative state, and to involve her in perplexities, in order that her graces may appear in a stronger light. No, I think I can perceive a motive yet infinitely more lovely and tender in this call; ‘Shew me thy countenance, let me hear thy voice.’

The soul, whom Jesus here calls his dove, has acquired an insight into herself, and her ruined state — and into the depth of that fearful abyss on the edge of which she had so long unconsciously slumbered; she has caught a distant glimpse of the judgment-throne, and the Lord, as a consuming fire seated upon it, with her sentence of death upon his lips: then anguish and horror took hold upon her, as an armed man;’• then she faltered from place to place to find a refuge, a secure retreat from his vengeance. She sought but found none; the billows of anguish mounted high, and rolled tumultuously over her — then the Savior appeared to her with the cheerful declaration, ‘I, even I am He that blotteth out thy transgressions, for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins.’ She no sooner heard these glad tidings, than she rose and embraced him; she cast herself upon Him as her only hope; and in his merits, in his wounds, she found the long-sought refuge and place

SERMON If. 215

of rest. Now she is in the clefts of the rock, rejoicing as- a brand just plucked from the burning. But her joy is not unmixed, her state of grace not yet perfect; many things still separate between her and the Lord. Her soul is yet oppressed with difficulties that render it impossible freely to exult in the grace she has received. Sometimes the sense of her unworthiness weighs like a mountain on her heart, and she is ashamed to lift up her eyes; she cannot conceive, that, for her sake, the Savior should submit to such labor and trouble. The wounds, that constitute her safety, become her pain. Sometimes the fear of again falling into sin, and of losing what she has gained, afflicts her; and she strives, with fear and trembling, if by any means she might arm and defend herself from the roaring lion who threatens her destruction. She cannot believe that he who delivered her should still care for her — feeling deeply her unworthiness she considers this would be requiring too much; it is enough, more than enough, that he so mercifully snatched her from the fire. She is as yet entirely destitute of filial confidence in Jesus; she lies prostrate at his feet, and would pour forth her gratitude, but the thought obtrudes itself: “Ah! what value can the King, surrounded by his seraphim, place on my poor thanks?” She would pray, but awe restrains her tongue, and she imagines so much has already been done for her, she ought not to desire more. Such is her state; great fear yet blended with her joy, great pressure of heart; her intercourse with the Savior is not yet that filial, cordial, unrestrained communion, which is so full of great benefits and of rich blessings.

The Lord well saw the state of his poor dove’s heart; and he saw it partly with delight, and partly with sincere compassion. He approached her, and addressed her tenderly, in order to gain her confidence, c My dove, why art thou cast down? Art thou apprehensive, that I having extended my arm for thy deliverance, thou hast no farther interest in me, and that my mercy is exhausted? Thou knowest not how my heart is affected towards thee. I have indeed redeemed thee; but thinkest thou that it has been like one redeeming a creature of indifference, and then going on his way? No, I also love thee — thou pleasest me: shew me thy countenance — thy countenance is comely unto me, I have pleasure therein: be not silent before me, let me hear thy voice, it is sweet to me; thou art my delight; and it is perhaps of higher importance to me, than even to thee, that thou shouldst be kept from the enemy, and that the work begun in thee should be perfected to thy profit, and to my honor and glory.”

And it was not perhaps until the dove comprehended the force of this endearing declaration, that she was able fully to rejoice. Every oppression, every burden was at once removed from her soul. Her heart was now free, her courage glowed, and her relation to Jesus had assumed an entirely new character. It had become a blissful, familiar intercourse of giving and receiving; of ingenuous, childlike application and desire, and of unceasing supply; and, in the place of fear and trembling, had succeeded the most joyful assurance; for she now knew, not only that Christ was hers, but that she was his. What a blissful state! in which whatever had intervened between us. and the life-spring of our spiritual joy, has disappeared; in which every doubt or difficulty that had prevented an entire surrender and devotion of ourselves to the best of all masters, is abolished; and in which every impediment to an unrestrained supply of grace from his fulness is removed. O ye redeemed of the Lord, who have, by Divine grace found the only secure hiding place, whose souls have fled to the rock which was founded by God before the foundation of the world; but who have not, like our dove, attained to a child-like, confidential, and ingenuous intercourse with your Surety; who have embraced him as a Redeemer, but not yet as a friend, not yet as a brother, and the benignant guide of your life, who is willing to dwell with you under one roof, to carry you in his bosom, and who entirely lives for his own, as once he died for them — may you soon obtain from the Lord of Lords, in this or in any other manner, the blessed assurance that he is not merely pleasing in your sight, but that you are likewise well pleasing in his; that your countenance is comely to him, and your voice sweet, much sweeter than ever his voice to you; that you may not continue oppressed and fearful, and appear as brands scarcely plucked from the burning; but that you may enjoy the blessed state of the Apostle John, and repose upon his bosom as free and beloved children, in the full experience of what is said by David, (Psalms xxxvi. 7 — 8,) / How excellent .is” thy loving kindness, O God! therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of thy wings. They shall be abundantly satisfied with the fatness of thy house, and thou shalt make them drink of the river of thy pleasures.’ Amen.