Spurgeon: March AM
* 03/01/AM
"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.