Morning, March 1
Go To Evening Reading
“Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that
the spices thereof may flow out.”
Song of Solomon 4:16
Anything is better than the dead calm of indifference. Our souls may
wisely desire the north wind of trouble if that alone can be sanctified
to the drawing forth of the perfume of our graces. So long as it cannot
be said, “The Lord was not in the wind,” we will not shrink from the most wintry blast that ever blew upon
plants of grace. Did not the spouse in this verse humbly submit herself
to the reproofs of her Beloved; only entreating him to send forth
his grace in some form, and making no stipulation as to the peculiar
manner in which it should come? Did she not, like ourselves, become
so utterly weary of deadness and unholy calm that she sighed for any
visitation which would brace her to action? Yet she desires the warm
south wind of comfort, too, the smiles of divine love, the joy of
the Redeemer’s presence; these are often mightily effectual to arouse our sluggish
life. She desires either one or the other, or both; so that she may
but be able to delight her Beloved with the spices of her garden.
She cannot endure to be unprofitable, nor can we. How cheering a thought
that Jesus can find comfort in our poor feeble graces. Can it be?
It seems far too good to be true. Well may we court trial or even
death itself if we shall thereby be aided to make glad Immanuel’s heart. O that our heart were crushed to atoms if only by such bruising
our sweet Lord Jesus could be glorified. Graces unexercised are as
sweet perfumes slumbering in the cups of the flowers: the wisdom of
the great Husbandman overrules diverse and opposite causes to produce
the one desired result, and makes both affliction and consolation
draw forth the grateful odours of faith, love, patience, hope, resignation,
joy, and the other fair flowers of the garden. May we know by sweet
experience, what this means.