Solomon's Song: Sermon VI
Solomon’s song ii. 12. And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.
Christ, the heavenly Bridegroom, invites his Bride to go forth to the hills, and to the mountains, to rejoice with him in the verdure and bloom of a lovely spring. It is not the spring of nature that she is invited to enjoy. It is the influence of grace, the spring of spiritual life, which the plastic breath of the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, has caused to put forth and blossom in the soul of sinners. “Rise up, my love, my fair one, he saith, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the spring is come; and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.” Let us dwell for a short time on the last few words of our text, and,
I. Take a nearer view of the turtle.
II. Listen to its voice in the land.
I.
The Bridegroom speaks of a dove, whose voice is heard in the land on the verdure of spring. We have already seen, that by the dove, in some places of our song, the Shulamite herself is intended; but that is not the case in the passage before us. Some commentators have supposed that the Lord here describes the dawn of the period of the New Covenant; and the turtle dove they imagine to be the voice of the preacher in the desert, the herald John. But under what similitude could this man, clothed in camel’s hair, be less appropriately represented than under that of a dove! We are of opinion, that by the dove the Holy Ghost, the Comforter, can alone be understood. As the Son of God condescended to choose the lamb for his symbol, the Spirit, in like manner, selected the dove. To whom does not the wonderful scene at Jordan at once occur 1 And the Spirit of the Lord belongs essentially to that spring of grace; for it is produced by this bird of heaven. That the Spirit in the text is denominated the turtle dove, is of little importance. The Lord compares the life of grace to the blossoming spring of nature, and to this simile the turtle dove was more appropriate than the domestic pigeon.
In order to discover the full meaning of this significant symbol, it will be necessary to take history as our guide. Three times the sacred volume presents to us this image; and each time the circumstances, the epocha, and the design are similar. In the first place, Closes informs us, that the Spirit of God moved (literally rendered, brooded) upon the void and formless earth. The Spirit, in as far as it assisted in the formation of the earth, and in preparing it as a theatre of peace and joy, is here likewise compared to a bird (beyond a doubt the dove) with her wings expanded, as if brooding on her eggs. Some hundred years later the dove appears to us again, and it is remarkable, under decidedly similar circumstances and at a similar epocha. Again, her wings are expanded over a waste and void; again she moves over the face of the waters, but they are the thundering waters of the deluge — those devastating floods of wrath, in which, according to the Scriptures, the first world was destroyed. Over the vast watery grave of the former world she flies with the green olive-leaf in her mouth, the lovely harbinger of joy, hastening to convey to Noah the intelligence he so much longed to receive. And what does her appearance with the green leaf in her mouth announce 1 It announces the termination of the Divine judgment, the coming of a new creation; it proclaims the commencement of a time of grace; of a reign of peace, which, under a new covenant, rich in promises, shall spring up for sinful man. For the third time the dove is seen on the banks of Jordan, resting on the head of our Saviour, when, in the great act of baptism, he solemnly and formally took upon himself our guilt, and silently acknowledged it as his own; and now tell me, my friends, if this third appearance is not of similar import with the first and second. Once again she moves over the waters, but they are those of John’s baptism, in whose waves our Surety had just made, in the name of our souls, the great confession of sin; and in our stead had solemnly declared himself worthy of death, and of the Divine wrath. Once again she appears above a waste and void, above the desolation of humanity, but whose ruin now rests on our substitute. Once again she appears at the commencement of a new creation of that which the Spirit, purchased by the blood of the Lamb, will produce upon the earth; and again she is the harbinger of peace, joy, and mercy. We hail thy appearance, O sacred dove, upon yonder silent desert, and as a beautiful messenger of peace, over the baptismal waters of Jordan, that proclaim aloud our sinfulness, and our worthiness of condemnation and death. We might well have expected the eagle to flit across the heavens, with the cry of Wo! wo! and announcing eternal destruction to the world and its inhabitants; when behold, instead of the eagle, the dove appears above the wraste and void — grace! grace! is the burden of her song, and peace and joy her welcome salutation! We bless and receive her with shouts of joy! 0 ye, who mourn and quake, why are ye cast down 1 The lion on the top of
Sinai, and of Ebal, has ceased to roar; the olive-branch becomes green in our banners, and on the horizon of the new covenant days the dove is seen to hover.
Do we ask on what ground the Holy Ghost has chosen the dove for its symbol ] So many points of resemblance present themselves to our view, that, for the sake of brevity, we must restrict our reflections to those which are most striking and important. The dove, this tender, faithful bird, has been at all times, and amongst all people, an emblem of constant love; and in this respect, the Comforter may, with great propriety, be compared to it. How astonishing is the love of the Eternal Father, who tore from his bosom his only Son, the child of his heart, to sacrifice him in the flaming fire of his wrath, and to expose him to the rage of hell, in order to snatch from the abyss of eternal torment a race obnoxious to death, and meriting destruction! Deep and unfathomable is the love of our Redeemer, who left a throne of majesty, to ascend the accursed tree, there to pour out his precious blood for the servants of Belial and of sin; to redeem, with this inestimable ransom, us wretches, against our will (for we desired Him not), from the power of Satan and of hell. No less great, wonderful, and unsearchable is the love of the Spirit, who has voluntarily undertaken to destroy the dragon’s brood, to cleanse the dwellings of impurity, and the dens of rapine and of murder; and who, in the execution of his office, visits scenes of the most disgusting depravity and lewdness. What chambers of pollution are our hearts! Like the cities of the plain, how full of corruption and uncleanness; but if the Spirit once enters these Sodoms and Gomorrahs, he departs not again till they are thoroughly purified. How joyfully he causes the light of heaven to shine into these habitations of darkness, and stores them with the treasures of truth and wisdom contained in the Scriptures, and from that fulness which is in Christ Jesus. How unchanging and untiring is this love! those who once become its objects can never be severed from its influence: “I will send you another comforter, said the Saviour, that he may abide with you for ever.” But, alas, how often do his people stray from Him, and lose themselves again in the world; yet he never forsakes them. How could he 1 he pursues them into the vortex of dissipation, and leaves them no peace in their sins. He chastises, warns, invites them; he causes lucid intervals to break in upon them in the midst of their revels; and never ceases to call after them, Turn ye! turn ye! till they hear his voice, and return dejected and afflicted to the fold from whence they had wandered. Let none suppose that he will receive them with the bitterness of reproach, or overwhelm them with the thunders of his wrath. Quite the contrary. He seeks, by every means, to wipe away the tears of his afflicted children, to inspire them with confidence in the faithfulness of Jehovah; and repeatedly says to them, Weep not, there are gifts also, even for the backsliding — nay, and perhaps bestows upon them unusual consolations; if therefore the dove be in truth the significant emblem of faithful love, it is the appropriate symbol of the Comforter. Of all birds, the dove is the cleanest and most delicate. In filthy places she will not abide. Thus it is with the Comforter. Many of you are ready to exclaim, But our hearts — are they not filthy 1 Indeed there is no deficiency of impurity there. But, let it be remembered, the dove is not at rest within them. Is she not incessantly engaged in detaching and expelling, in sweeping and garnishing 1 Her habitation must be cleansed, and she would never have entered it, but for the certain prospect of eventually rendering it completely pure and free from taint. If there be a spirit within you that can be at ease in the midst of impurity, and that can endure iniquity, be assured this spirit is
not the dove. Where the dove resides, there is a constant conflict in the soul against the seed of the serpent — a holy and zealous desire to root up every thorn, and to consume it with fire. This dove, saith St. Paul, lusteth against the flesh, and the flesh against the dove, and there is a constant warfare. Where the Spirit dwells, the heart becomes the arena of strife; for this Divine warrior rests not till he has bruised the head of the last serpent within us, and destroyed the last cockatrice egg. How sensitive is this heavenly dove! Of the dove it is said, that the feather of a falcon, or hawk, is sufficient to make her nutter and tremble. Thus it is with the Spirit in our hearts; if but the slightest impure thought arises within us, he is at once in emotion. Horror seizes him, and he casts the abomination from him with disgust and indignation. Are you sensible of the existence of such an uncompromising enemy to impurity within you, — then rejoice, for the dove is there.
The dove is gentle, and it is in this respect likewise a striking image of the Spirit of grace. In the form of a dove the Spirit descended upon Jesus. It was said of Him, “He shall not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the street. A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench: he shall bring forth judgment unto truth.” When the village of Samaria had refused to receive the Lord, and the two sons of thunder angrily exclaimed: “Lord, wilt thou that we command fire to come down from heaven, and consume them, even as Elias didV’ Jesus turned and rebuked them, and said, “Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of.” The Spirit of Christ is like a gentle dove. It judgeth not, thinketh no evil; when reviled, it revileth not again, and is not so ready to call down fire from heaven. Where it enters, it introduces the dispositions of the dove. How could it be otherwise I It makes us feel that we are miserable sinners, and convinces us that free grace alone can save us. This humbles, silences, and renders us indulgent and mild. Then we willingly cease from censuring others; we behold not the mote in our brother’s eye, on account of the beam in our own eye. It is unhappily true, that the children of God do not unfrequently give way to anger, jealousy, and a censorious spirit, and all traces of the dove are obscured. But on such occasions it is not the dove that stirs within us, but the Leviathan of the old man, that has again caused his voice to be heard; it is not Jacob, but Esau with his rough skin, that is indeed mortally wounded within us, though he has not yet ceased to breathe. It is the flesh, and not the Spirit. The Spirit is grieved; it upbraids and chastens us, and grants us no peace, till we are humbled and repentant. Thus it is evidently a dove — a spirit of peace and love, mild and gentle.
Already in the history of the creation, as we have seen, the Holy Spirit is presented to us under the similitude of a bird — no doubt the dove. The Spirit of God, it is said, brooded upon the face of the waters, as a bird broods with extended wings upon its eggs. This figurative expression indicates that the Spirit also took part in the creation; that it formed the waste and void, and gave shape and beauty to the earth. And spiritually, the Spirit is incessantly executing the same work in the human mind. While the heart is still as chaos, a world ruined by Satan, waste and void, and shrouded in the darkness and blindness of unbelief, the Spirit, impelled by love, descends and overshadows it, as it overshadowed the Virgin. Now the command goes forth, “Let there be light!” and there is light. We look down into the dark abyss of our desolate condition, and shudder with horror. The light is separated from the darkness. We perceive what we should be, and what we are not. We learn to judge spiritually, and to discern’ good and evil according to the rule of God’s law. And God calls the light day, and the darkness night. Thus, before we are aware, the light of a new life has sprung up within us, which scatters and expels the darkness of the old j and the evening and the morning are the first day. Under the wings of the plastic breath of the Comforter, this spiritual creation advances steadily towards perfection. The desolate soil thirsteth for grace, and is refreshed with the verdure of a new creation. The sacred flowers of faith and love spring up. A new world is called into existence. The morning stars extol the power of grace, and the inward spiritual man, renewed in the image of Christ, walks with delight in the blissful paradise of communion with his God. “The Spirit moved on the face of the waters.” Thus it is still in the spiritual world. Many waters rise upon the believing soul; but the Spirit breaks through them all, maintains the ascendency, and sustains the life it has imparted. The sensuality of our sinful nature may be accounted as one of these waters. How frequently do its waves swell tumultuously; but the Spirit still moves above them. It resembles oil, which always floats upon the surface of water. Our sins of weakness may likewise be accounted a water. When we fall, the oil sinks; yet it is but for a moment. Behold the tears of Mary Magdalene, and of Peter after his fall! The oil rises to the surface; the Spirit again moves upon the face of the waters! The afflictions which befall us may likewise be numbered amongst the waters which rise upon the soul. When they break in upon us, we are alarmed; we tremble and are dismayed. A raging flood overwhelms the soul, and the Spirit is in the deep. But it is soon otherwise. Reflection comes, we bend the knee, and sigh, “Lord help!” We throw ourselves upon the tender mercy of the Eternal Father; hope revives, and we ask our soul, “Why art thou cast down 1” We believe, submit, and are again comforted. The waters are forced back, the Spirit soars above them. Worldly thoughts, and the cares of time, may also be accounted waters. How frequently do they overwhelm the soul like a mighty torrent, and keep it grovelling- in this lower sphere! But the dove soon ascends out of these tempestuous billows; and with a tranquil mind, with an unconstrained and elevated spirit, we are enabled to rejoice in the midst of the tumult. Thus the dove is never prevented from moving on the face of the waters, and in every conflict is the last on the field.
When, however, the Scriptures speak of the Holy Spirit as a dove, the allusion is especially to the dove of Noah, that wished-for messenger bearing the symbol of peace and of joy; and it is his office of Comforter, of which we are more particularly reminded by this delightful figure, than of any other of his works and offices. When the Saviour testifies of the Spirit, “He shall take of mine, and show it unto you,” does he not designate him as the dove which shall bear the olive branch to the ark of the New Testament Church 1 The Spirit is the appropriator, the sealer of that which the Son has wrought out for us. What was outwardly prepared, he applies inwardly; with the fruit of the cross he nourishes the heart; he causes the living waters of the fountain opened to spring up within us, and he conveys the blood of the Lamb, as a blood-sprinkling, into the innermost soul. Oh what a delightful, welcome vision, is this heavenly dove, when it appears unexpectedly with expanded wings above the swelling billows of spiritual sorrow and conscious guilt, hastening with messages of mercy towards the trembling and afflicted soul! How blissful the calm after such a conflict, when the Spirit testifies with ours, that we are the children of God j and the pledge of our eternal redemption is more precious to us than crowns and. sceptres! Now we sit under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit is sweet to our taste. Now all the promises of Scripture are ours. The Bible appears to us a richly laden tree, extending its branches towards us. On us the dying eye of Jesus rests, when from the cross he casts a last trembling look upon the earth; on us he thinks, when he exclaims, “1 lay down my life for my sheep;” and to us his blood-stained arms appear extended, while stretched upon the tree. The consolation of reconciliation distils like honey, and diffuses itself through our inmost being; the peace of God encompasses us; the overcharged heart expands like the ocean; the blessed dove has deposited the olive branch in the ark.
If we now reflect that the olive branch, whilst it is a symbol of victory and of triumph, is likewise a decoration of honour; and that Noah, to whom the dove brought the olive branch, was a type of Christ; we shall again perceive in this figure a trait of the Holy Spirit, by which its existence in the converted soul is verified. This heavenly dove also knows a worthy head for every crown and garland; and the ultimate design of all its operations is to glorify the Lord Jesus. It deprives the creature of all honour, to confer it on the Lord, and on him exclusively; it indelibly impresses this sentiment on the believing heart: “Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory, for thy mercy, and for thy truth’s sake;” and it imparts to the mind that holy frame, which makes it recoil from the slightest wish to magnify itself, as from an infernal spirit of rebellion. The Saviour himself says the same of the Comforter: “He shall testify of me.”
If then a spirit stir within you, whatever disguise it may assume, which tempts you to magnify yourselves, know that this spirit is not the dove. The dove will exalt the Saviour only.
II.
Having thus glanced at the heavenly dove herself 5 let us now also listen to her voice; for her notes are wonderful and enchanting. “The voice of the turtle,” says the Bridegroom to his Shulamite, “is heard in our land;” and we say, God be praised. What discordant notes would have resounded through the world, if no spirit but that of man had ever prevailed in it! There has never been a time, in which this heavenly dove has been perfectly silent upon earth. Here or there, in gentle strains at least, she has ever caused her voice to be heard. That which, at the time of the flood, spoke by the mouth of Noah so warningly and so cheeringly to the hearts of sinners; that which, in the patriarchal world, proclaimed such glad tidings, and announced a day at which Abraham rejoiced; that which spake by Moses of a prophet, whom the Lord would raise up, like unto him; that which on the hill of Bethlehem inspired the sweet strains of the royal bard; that which, by the voice of the prophets, pronounced such wonderful sayings, and revealed such sacred mysteries; tell me what was it? What else, my brethren, but the dove; what else but the dove of that Spirit, which searches even the deep things of God, and which resounds through all the promises? In the Bible, that tree of life, she sits upon every branch, and her voice may be heard in an endless variety of tone and modulation; and those who have an ear for its melodies, know how affectingly and thrillingly she sometimes sings, how consoling and quickening her strains; so that the heart is penetrated, and almost dissolves in blissful emotion.
The turtle dove is heard in our land j not in the Scriptures only, but also in the land of our hearts: and here likewise her strains are harmonious, though varied. True it is, that other birds also coo therein, but the notes of the dove are easily distinguished. Dost thou hear, for instance, a spirit commend to thee any thing but Christ and his blood, as the rock of thy salvation and the ground of thy hope; does it speak to thee of thy good qualities, of the powers that slumber within thee; close thy door against it. It is not the dove, but the raven. Does it cry, “Peace, peace! there is no danger!” close thine ear: there is an infernal spirit near thee. Does it say, “Hasten from Sodom, and save thy soul!” give ear to it, it is the dove. Does it tell thee, “Thy sins are too great for thee, there is no mercy!” then arm thyself; it is the lion’s roar. Does it cry, “And if they be red like crimson, the blood of the Lamb will make them white as wool!” it is the dove. Does it say, “First become worthy, reform thyself, then come to Jesus!” give it to the winds; it is an erring spirit. Does it say, “Come as thou art, come boldly, for the Saviour receives sinners,” listen to its voice; let it not be said to thee twice; for the turtle dove is heard in the land.
The voice of the sacred dove speaks to our hearts, and reverberates from thence in confessions, in exhortations, in prayer and praise; and thus aofain its voice is heard in the land. But is it always the voice of the dove that is thus heard 1 It is true, the raven voice of the old man sometimes imitates so successfully the voice of the dove, that it requires a fine and practised ear, to detect the raven’s voice in such melodious sounds. Even mental conflicts and states of feeling occur, in which the Holy Spirit has not the slightest share, and which must he entirely ascribed to nature, and not to grace; and yet they so strongly resemble the operations of the Spirit, that the clearest sight is often deceived and the nicest discernment frequently baffled. Here the well-known event in the history of Jephtha, the hero of Gilead, occurs to me, who, after he had defeated and scattered the Ephraimites, took possession of the passages of Jordan, resolved that none of the fugitives should return alive to their native land. Aware, perhaps, of their conqueror’s intention, but obliged to cross the river, or perish in the desert, they approach the ford, and deny that they are Ephraimites. They are put to the test, all of them are required to pronounce the word Shiboleth! but they said Siboleth: “for they could not frame to pronounce it right;” and all were put to the sword. What a serious and important truth does this scene present to us. Before him who holds the ford, beyond which lies the Canaan of God, all depends upon an apparent trifle. On the existence or non-existence of a something within us, irrespective of all other considerations, will it depend, whether we shall be permitted to pass over, or whether the sword of his indignation shall descend upon us. The spiritual resemblance between the man who is rejected, and the one who is accepted, may be as great as that between Shiboleth and Siboleth, Who can detect any material difference 1 But God is a keen discemer. To him the difference in the characters of the two men maybe as decisive, as was to Jephthathat between Shiboleth and Siboleth, which marked the friendly Gileadite from the rebellious Ephraimite. Behold here two men. Both smite upon their breast, both weep, both call themselves the chief of sinners, and both are sinners. We see their tears, we hear their confessions. Both are afflicted, both complain. To us no difference is visible; we deem them both repentant sinners; and had wTe the crown of righteousness to bestow, we should invest them with the same decorations. Both appear at the passage of Jordan, both stand before the Judge; and behold! one only is crowned, and the other is lost. Gracious God! Why should this be 1 The one said Shiboleth, the other Siboleth. We observed it not; but the Lord is a nice discerner. Only Si instead of Shi, but the difference is sufficient to cause an eternal separation. The one smote upon his breast from fear, the other from love. Hell made the one to weep, the cross the other. The complaint of the one was: Oh that I should have incurred such guilt! the complaint of the other was: Ah, that I should have caused thee, Lord Jesus, so much suffering! The one lamented the consequences of sin; the other, the transgressions themselves. Sin had not extorted a tear from the one, had it not rendered him miserable, for he thought but of his comfort; the other would have abhorred sin, though it had exercised no influence over his peace; for he sought the honour of his God. In short, when the characters of the two were developed, it was apparent that selfishness produced repentance in the one, and that the tears of the other were those of love. In the one was concealed a repentant Cain; in the other a weeping Magdalene. In the one nature
predominated; in the other, grace. A difference less perceptible than that in Shiboleth and Siboleth, yet immeasurably great, and lasting as eternity! Two men sit by the way side. Both cry, “Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me!” Neither of them are hypocrites, but both mean what they say. We pronounce both blessed; but will the Judge confirm our sentence 1 At the passage of Jordan it will be decided. Though their acts have been the same, a mighty wind may there separate them for ever; raising the one on high, while it precipitates the other into the abyss. And why should it be so! To us it seemed, that both had said Shiboleth. Alas! the one had only said Si; we did not observe it. That was his ruin. The one cried to the Saviour like Bartimeus and the thief on the cross; the other like the devils; “Lord, do not command us to go down into the deep.” The one thought within himself: “Ah, if I had but Jesus, what need I care for heaven!” The other, “Ah, if I had but heaven, what need I care for Jesus!”* The one sighed for the love of Christ; the other for his saving hand. The cry of the one marked the fervour of the lover; that of the other, the despair of the helpless, anxious for salvation, but indifferent by whom it is effected: the devil would be as welcome as Jesus, provided he could as effectually save from perdition. To our dull senses this was not perceptible. But he who sits upon the throne heard at once that it was not the Shiboleth of the Gileadite. His ear listens for the voice of the dove. Nothing but spirit and truth can stand before him.
We cannot say, therefore, that true heartfelt Christianity consists in tears, in penitence, or in an earnest longing after the bliss of heaven. We cannot say it consists in prayers, in Christian deportment, or in evangelical knowledge. Neither does it consist in love for the Gospel, in the emotions it awakens within us, or in zeal for the spread of Divine truth. Nor in an open confession of Christ, and the ability to testify and speak of him with eloquence, edification, and instruction. Brethren, all this may only constitute a Siboleth; and wo be to us, if at the passage of Jordan it should so appear. It may all proceed from the natural man, and be the mere workings of a selfish nature.
* This is according to Luther’s translation of Ps. lxxiii. 25. — Ed.
But nothing will stand the Divine scrutiny, that is not the work and produce of the Spirit, and the essence of which is not the love of Christ.
That it is sometimes impossible for the nicest discernment to distinguish between seemingly devout sentiments, whether they are the effusions of the Spirit, or the mere promptings of the natural man, we have already seen. But there are cases, in which a difference may be perceived, like that between Shiboleth and Siboleth, by which we recognise at once a Gileadite or an Ephraimite, In sermons, hymns, books and prayers, though equally correct and true, devout and evangelical, there is a certain something which we feel but cannot describe, by which we are enabled to say, “Here is the dove, and here some other bird; this is the Spirit, and this nature; this is genuine, and this spurious: this is life, but this a portrait.”
The dove speaks through the children Of God; but not always in the same accents. Sometimes its strains are sorrowful, interrupted by sighs and tears: “Lord Jesus, have mercy on me!” At others languishing, and expressive of the most ardent longings: “Ah, when shall I depart hence, that I may behold thy glory 1” Now they are those of dejection and complaint: “O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death V Then they breathe the raptures of nuptial joy: “My beloved is mine, and I am his:
he feedeth among the lilies!” They are sometimes eloquent and persuasive: “Come and hear, all ye that fear God, and I will declare what he hath done for my soul!” Then again they are short and ejaculatory; a single “Ah!” or “Oh!” is all that we can hear — but they are tones that reverberate through the choirs of heaven. Sometimes it ascends in sighs and groans: “Put not thy servant away in anger: thou hast been my help.” Again its voice is heard through deep conflict and distress; in gentle accents it is true, but distinct, and full of consolation. The powers of darkness may sometimes succeed in bewildering a redeemed soul, by confounding all its evidences; by subverting its faith in the Rock of its hope, and in the sacred volume; till, in its perplexity, it is tempted to renounce all belief in a God or Saviour, in a heaven or hell. What can here be perceived of the note of the dove 1 Nothing, we are ready to reply. Here the raven’s croak is heard. But let us listen attentively. It is true that in doubters, as such, the voice of the dove is not heard. But it may be recognised in the accents of complaint in which the tempted and benighted soul gives utterance to its doubts; in the sighs and groans with which it laments its unbelief; in the longing, wrestling supplications which the heart pours forth to the Lord, that He would again cause his light to shine. Thus, amongst the saints of God, it causes its voice to be heard in an endless variety of ways, and diversity of modulation: but it is everywhere the same dove.
The turtle dove is heard in the land! God be praised, a period has already dawned, in which these words have a delightful application to the land in which we dwell. The drooping and expiring church of Christ begins to revive, and put forth blossoms; the frosty night of winter has begun to yield to the genial breath of spring, promising a more glorious future; and the turtle, so long banished and forgotten, has reappeared in the land. How many congregations, that once heard nothing but the raven-like croakings of the most comfortless unbelief, are now refreshed by the voice of the dove! What testimonies to the truth, what prayers and praises, have of late again been heard in the church; and the presence of the dove has been most manifest and refreshing. But the brightness that shines in our day, is but the opening splendour of an incomparably more glorious period that is rapidly approaching. Magnificent promises hang suspended over the church, like clouds pregnant with blessings. Blessed assurances, like sweet messengers of joy, stand at her portals. O Shulamite, wait and be comforted! Let not the tempests and the horrors which here and there may rage, excite thy fears. It is but the struggle between spring and winter, between life and death.
Death will be vanquished; and when thou least cxpectest, it will again be said to thee, but in a fuller and more exalted sense, “Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away: for, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come: and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land!” O blessed period! may the Lord hasten it. Amen.