The Blasts of Adversity

u Awake, O north wind; and co?nei thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow outy — Song of Sol. iv. 16.

The spices in the garden of life only flow out when the winds blow. There are rich treasures hidden in many souls which would remain hidden for ever if the blast of adversity did not disclose them. There is more power in every one of us than we ourselves know. There is no depth we have explored so little as the depth of our own heart. There are latent in our hearts vast susceptibilities, boundless aspirations, intense powers of loving and of working; but we ourselves are ignorant of their presence until the winds blow. We wait for the breath of heaven to disengage the perfume that lies imprisoned in our flower of life; we need the north wind and the south to blow upon our garden that the spices thereof may flow out.

My soul, art thou afraid of the north and the south winds? Art thou bemoaning the hard Providence that has sent them into thy garden? Dost thou fear that they will destroy the precious fruits of thy life? They are sent into thy garden only that they may perfect these fruits. Does it seem to thee that the Spirit of thy God hath departed from thee because the north and the south winds have begun to blow? Nay, but the blowing of these winds is itself the breath of the Spirit. Hast thou considered the life of Joseph as an ideal type of the Providence that develops all life? Joseph, the shepherd boy, had a beauty of his own, but it was not yet the highest beauty. His soul was a fair garden, a potential garden of the Lord, but it was not yet His actual garden. The seed was there of the future fruits and flowers, but neither the fruits nor the flowers had become visible. Joseph’s beauty had not begun to diffuse itself. His was a life of dreams — beautiful, sentimental dreams, such as youth loves to cherish, but which as long as they are cherished prevent youth from being useful. And so the north wind and the south wind had to blow. The spices of that fair garden had to be released, and the winds of adversity came to release them. The dreaming boy had to be awakened from his dream, had to be taught that life is no dream. He had to be roused into the sense of human suffering, into a perception of the yoke of humanity, and he learned it by his own yoke — by the iron that entered into his soul. His last state was more glorious than his first because it was more outflowing; his dreams about himself passed into his acts for others, and the sweet spices that had been concealed regaled the surrounding air. Even so, my soul, shall it be with thee when the north and the south winds shall blow.