Morning    “His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers.”     Song of Solomon 5:13

Lo, the flowery month is come! March winds and April showers have done their

work, and the earth is all bedecked with beauty. Come my soul, put on thine

holiday attire and go forth to gather garlands of heavenly thoughts. Thou

knowest whither to betake thyself, for to thee “the beds of spices” are well

known, and thou hast so often smelt the perfume of “the sweet flowers,” that

thou wilt go at once to thy well-beloved and find all loveliness, all joy in

him. That cheek once so rudely smitten with a rod, oft bedewed with tears of

sympathy and then defiled with spittle–that cheek as it smiles with mercy is as

fragrant aromatic to my heart. Thou didst not hide thy face from shame and

spitting, O Lord Jesus, and therefore I will find my dearest delight in

praising thee. Those cheeks were furrowed by the plough of grief, and crimsoned

with red lines of blood from thy thorn-crowned temples; such marks of love

unbounded cannot but charm my soul far more than “pillars of perfume.” If I may

not see the whole of his face I would behold his cheeks, for the least glimpse

of him is exceedingly refreshing to my spiritual sense and yields a variety of

delights. In Jesus I find not only fragrance, but a bed of spices; not one

flower, but all manner of sweet flowers. He is to me my rose and my lily, my

heartsease and my cluster of camphire. When he is with me it is May all the year

round, and my soul goes forth to wash her happy face in the morning-dew of his

grace, and to solace herself with the singing of the birds of his promises.

Precious Lord Jesus, let me in very deed know the blessedness which dwells in

abiding, unbroken fellowship with thee. I am a poor worthless one, whose cheek

thou hast deigned to kiss! O let me kiss thee in return with the kisses of my

lips.

 

Evening   “I am the rose of Sharon.”    Song of Solomon 2:1

Whatever there may be of beauty in the material world, Jesus Christ possesses

all that in the spiritual world in a tenfold degree. Amongst flowers the rose is

deemed the sweetest, but Jesus is infinitely more beautiful in the garden of the

soul than the rose can be in the gardens of earth. He takes the first place as

the fairest among ten thousand. He is the sun, and all others are the stars; the

heavens and the day are dark in comparison with him, for the King in his beauty

transcends all. “I am the rose of Sharon.” This was the best and rarest of

roses. Jesus is not “the rose” alone, he is “the rose of Sharon,” just as he

calls his righteousness “gold,” and then adds, “the gold of

Ophir”–the best of the best. He is positively lovely, and superlatively the

loveliest. There is variety in his charms. The rose is delightful to the eye,

and its scent is pleasant and refreshing; so each of the senses of the soul,

whether it be the taste or feeling, the hearing, the sight, or the spiritual

smell, finds appropriate gratification in Jesus. Even the recollection of his

love is sweet. Take the rose of Sharon, and pull it leaf from leaf, and lay by

the leaves in the jar of memory, and you shall find each leaf fragrant long

afterwards, filling the house with perfume. Christ satisfies the highest taste

of the most educated spirit to the very full. The greatest amateur in

perfumes is quite satisfied with the rose: and when the soul has arrived at her

highest pitch of true taste, she shall still be content with Christ, nay, she

shall be the better able to appreciate him. Heaven itself possesses nothing

which excels the rose of Sharon. What emblem can fully set forth his beauty?

Human speech and earth-born things fail to tell of him. Earth’s choicest charms

commingled, feebly picture his abounding preciousness. Blessed rose, bloom in my

heart forever!