The Return to Zion

‘’ This is the rest ivhemuith ye may cause the zueaf-y to rest, and this is the refreshing” —

“JTfjc tctcrtnrti of tfjc Eorli sfjall rcfunt, auK come iuitf) singing unto Zxaw; nnti ricrlasttng jog sfjall be upon tijcir fjratr: tijrg sf)all obtain glatmrss anti jou; anti sorroiu anti mourning slall flee

^^’■’S-” -ISA. li. II.

to St’on.

These words had doubtless a primary reference to Israel, seated, not under the old palms of the Sinai wilderness, but rather, at a later age, under the willow-trees of the streams of Babylon; on whose branches a poet of the Captivity so touchingly describes the captives as hanging their muffled harps, and weeping as they remembered Zion.

But they have a grander than local or temporary meaning. Every member of the true Israel of God, as he is seated under the figurative shadow, whether of palm or of willow, whether his experience be joyful or sorrowful, may take heart and courage from the description here given of travellers to a better than earthly Zion; Jehovah’s own ransomed ones; whose captivity is turned “as streams in the south,” and who are “more than conquerors through Him that loved them.”

Taking the passage thus, in its highest spiritual interpretation, these Zionward travellers are beautifully represented, even in the course of their journey, as filled with peace and joy in believing, abounding in hope. Many, while they picture a coming heaven as a place of unmingled happiness and felicity, are apt to depict the way thither as one of gloom, — every pilgrim reaching it with the furrow on his brow and the tear in his eye; that if any chimes of gladness reach his ears, they come from bells within the gates of the city, not without. But these words tell differently and more truly. There are paJm trees at Elim as well as “beyond Jordan.” The desert is resonant with song. Gladness and joy are here represented as two attendants — sister spirits, accompanying all the way, hand in hand. Yes! the Christian is, or ought to be, a joyful man. Though it be a wilderness he treads, and though “sorrow and mourning” are also depicted as tracking his footsteps; yet he has elements of tranquil happiness within him, which make the smile, not the tear, the appropriate exponent of his thoughts and emotions. It were strange, indeed, were it otherwise. At peace with God; sin forgiven; the heart changed; the affections elevated; grace moulding, sustaining, quickening, sanctifying; and, rising above all, the assured hope of glory hereafter. He can say, “Thou hast put gladness in my heart, more than in the time that their corn and their wine increased” (Ps. iv. 7). The words, too, seem to tell of an ever-augmenting joy. As the portals of glory draw nearer, the song deepens in melody and strength. They come to Zion “with singing;” then “everlasting joy is on their head.” Then they obtain a new anointing of “gladness;” and finally “sorrow and mourning,” — these two companions of the wilderness, rise on their sombre, gloomy wings, and speed away for ever!

Is that happiness in any feeble measure ours? Can we appropriate to ourselves, in lowly, humble confidence, that grandest of titles here given to the desert sojourners, “The Redeemed of the Lord “? Have we on the pilgrim garb, — the Righteousness alike imputed and implanted — the attire of the King’s daughter, all-glorious without, — “all-glorious within “? and is our chief element of joy in the prospect of the Heavenly Zionnot the negative one, the absence of sorrow and mourning — but that which consists in the vision and fruition of Zion’s God, assimilation to His character, conformity to His will, active energy in His service, serving Him day and night in His Temple? With such a hope, we may well be patient under present trial; though ‘sorrowful,’ we maybe ‘always rejoicing.’ “God our Maker giveth songs in the night.” Better the night, with songs in it, than no night and no song. Better the wilderness and its Elim-groves, than Egypt with its flesh-pots and its bondage. Better the thorn in the nest to tempt to magnificent flight, than to settle in the downy nest of false security and ease, selfishness and death.

The world has its joys too; but, apart from God, they are a poor counterfeit of the true. They are often precarious, uncertain, fitful while they last; the grave will sooner or later close over them, when they will vanish like the transient flash of summer lightning, never to be recalled, or “as a dream when one waketh.” But, Christians! “everlasting joy,” like a festive chaplet or coronet, shall be upon your head. Yours are to be robes ever bright, palms ever green, crowns never fading. Elim with all its refreshment and rest, but none of its transience. “The Lord shall be your everlasting light, and the days of your mourning shall be ended.”

“Here, the great unrest of ages;

Here, the trouble, toil, and strife:
There, the peaceful, quiet waters
Of the crystal stream of life.

“Here, the sighing of the branches;
Here, the wave-beat on the shore:
There, the ceaseless strain of angels
Chanting praises evermore.

“Here, the rocks and shoals and quicksands;
Here, the home beneath the sod:
There, the haven where we would be;
There, the presence of our God.”

‘they shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more,

neither shall the sun light upon them nor any

heat. for the lamb that is in the midst

of the throne shall feed them, and

lead them to living fountains

OF WATER.”