Delivered by
C. H. SPURGEON,
At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington
"Look not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon
me: my mother's children were angry with me, they made me the keeper of
the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I not kept."–Song of Solomon
1:6.
WHENCE DO I DRAW MY TEXT but from the very fountain of love? And to
whom shall I address my discourse but to the friends of the bridegroom?
Ye must have warm hearts, quick sensibilities, lively emotions to
interpret the sayings and sympathise the tender notes of this most
sacred song.
I suppose that the history of the statues in St. Paul's Cathedral, from
year to year, would not be remarkably interesting. They are placed upon
their pedestals; they stand there quietly; and unless some terrible
convulsion should occur, probably that will be the whole of their
history for many years to come, as it has been for many years past.
During the time in which any one of those statues has stood there,
however, the history of any one human person has been checkered with
all sorts of incidents, happy and sorrowful. Aches and pains, joys and
rejoicings' depressions and exultations, have alternated in the living;
but in the cold marble there has been no such change. Many of you in
this house know little of what are the experiences of God's people. If
you hear of their anxieties and encouragements, their temptations and
deliverances, their inward conflicts and spiritual triumphs, their
gloomy depressions and cheerful exultations–all those things seem to
you as an idle tale. The living, the living, shall know the secret; but
unto the mere professor this thing is not revealed.
My subject, which will be mainly addressed to God's working people–to
such as are really serving him–will appear to have very little bearing
upon any here present who do not understand the spiritual life, and
they will probably think that the evening to them is wasted. Just this
word on the outset, however, I would drop in your ears. If you do not
know anything of spiritual life, what will you do in the end of your
natural life? If there be no work of God's Spirit upon your soul, and
you are a stranger to the living experience of God's children, what
will be your portion for ever? It must be divided to you with the
unbelievers. Are you prepared to receive it? Are you willing that this
should be your eternal destiny? Are you not, rather, alarmed? Are you
not made anxious and desirous if by any means you may pass into that
better, truer, state of life? Considering its boundless interests,
notwithstanding all the present struggles and sorrows it may entail on
you, do you not wish to know and prove what spiritual life means? I
pray God you may. Let me remind you that the gospel preached to you is
still available for your quickening; and whosoever believeth in Christ
Jesus is born of God, and is possessor of that spiritual life.
Now, in conducting the people of God to a special survey of our text,
"Look not upon me, because I am black," our first remark shall be this:
the fairest Christians are the most shamefaced with regard to
themselves. The person who says, "Look not upon me, because I am
black," is described by some one else in the eighth verse as the
"fairest among women." Others, who thought her the fairest of the fair,
spoke no less than the truth when they affirmed it; but in her own
esteem she felt herself to be so little fair, and so much uncomely,
that she besought them not even to look upon her. Why is it that the
best Christians depreciate themselves the most?
Is it not because they are most accustomed to look within? They keep
their books in a better condition than those unsafe tradesmen, the
counterpart of mere professors, who think themselves "rich and
increased in goods," when they are on the very verge of bankruptcy. The
Christian in his right state tests himself to see whether he be in the
faith. He values too much his own soul to go on blindly. He knows that
Heedless and Toobold are always bad pilots, so he sets Caution and
Self-examination at the helm. He cries to God, "Search me, and know my
heart." He is accustomed to examine his actions and his motives–to
pass his words and his thoughts in review. He does not live the life of
one who goes recklessly on; but he stops and considers his ways; and
looks well to the state of everything within him "to have always a
conscience void of offense toward God and toward men." Solomon says,
"The wise man looks to the state of his flocks and his herds;" and it
is no marvel if any one suffer loss who neglects the counsel. But he
also says, "Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the
issues of life;" and it is quite certain that he who fails in this
exercise is liable to every kind of moral disorder. In his anxiety to
be pure from evil, the godly man will be eager to notice and quick to
detect the least particle of defilement; and for this reason he
discovers more of his blackness than any other man is likely to see. He
is no blacker, but he looks more narrowly, and therefore he sees more
distinctly the spots on his own character.
The genuine Christian, also, tries himself by a higher standard. The
professor, if he be as good as another professor, is well content. He
estimates himself by a comparison with his neighbors. He has no
standard but that of ordinary commonplace Christianity. Par otherwise
is it with the believer who walks near to God; he asks himself "What
manner of persons ought we to be, in all holy conversation and
godliness?" He knows the law to be spiritual, and therefore he judges
many things to be sinful which others wink at; and he counts some
things to be important duties which others regard as trifles. The
genuine Christian sets up no lower standard than perfection. He does
not judge himself by others, but by the exact measure of the divine
requirements, by the law of God, and especially by the example of his
Lord and Master; and when he thus sets the brightness of the Savior's
character side by side with his own, then it is that he cries out,
"Look not upon me, for I am black." The mere professor never does this:
he neither scrutinises himself nor observes his Master with close heed
and strained attention, desiring to ascertain the truth; but he
flatters himself in his own eyes, and goes on presumptuously. Not so
the genuine Christian; he hides his face, sighs in secret, and cries
before God, because he is not what he wants to be; not what his Lord
was; not fully conformed to Christ in all things; and just because
these short-comings grieve and vex his righteous soul, he cries, "Look
not upon me, for I am black." All the while he may be of the highest
type of Christian, yet he is not so in his own esteem. He may be a star
to others, but he is a blot, as he thinks, to himself. In God's esteem
he is "accepted in the Beloved," but in his own esteem he seems to
himself to be full of all manner of evil, and he cries out against it
before his Lord.
Another reason why the fairest Christ are generally those that think
themselves the blackest, is that they have more light. A person may
seem to be very fair in the dark, very fair in the twilight; but when
the light gets strong, and the eye is strengthened to perceive, then it
is that spots that were not noticed before are soon discovered. You
have, perhaps, a handkerchief that has looked to you extremely white;
so it has been in comparison with other linen: but one day, when there
has been a fall of snow, you have laid your handkerchief side by side
with the snow, and you have seen that it was very far from the
whiteness which you imagined. When the light of God comes into the
soul, and we see what purity really is, what holiness really is, then
it is the contrast strikes us. Though we might have thought we were
somewhat clean before, when we see God in his light we see light, and
we abhor ourselves in dust and ashes. Our defects so appall our own
heart, that we marvel they do not exhaust his patience.
The better Christ a man is, the more abashed he always feels; because
to him sin is so exceedingly hateful, that what sin he sees in himself
he loathes himself for far more than others do. The ungodly man would
condone very great sin in himself; though he might know it to be there;
it would not disturb him; but the Christian being another sort, having
a love for holiness and a hatred for sin, cannot bear to see the
smallest speck of sin upon himself: He knows what it is. There are
persons living before the public eye, and jealous of popularity, who
appear quite indifferent to the good opinion of the sovereign in whose
kingdom they dwell there are other persons favourites at court, who
would lie awake at night tossed to and fro in fear if they thought that
something had been reported to the sovereign's ear that was disloyal. A
man who fears not God, will break all his laws with an easy conscience,
but one who is the favorite of heaven, who has been indulged to sit at
royal banquets, who knows the eternal love of God to him, cannot bear
that there should be any evil way in him that might grieve the Spirit
and bring dishonor to the name of Christ. A very little sin, as the
world calls it, is a very great sin to a truly awakened Christian. I
will ask you now, dear hearers (most of on are members of this or of
other churches), do you know what it is to fret because you have spoken
an unadvised word? Do you know what it is to smite upon your breast,
because you were angry?–justly provoked, perhaps, but still, being
angry, you spoke unadvisedly. Have you ever gone to a sleepless couch,
because in business you have let fall a word, or have done an action
which, upon mature deliberation, you could not justify? Does the tear
never come from your eye because you are not like your Lord, and have
failed where you hoped to succeed? I would give little for your
godliness, if you know nothing of this. Repentance is as much a mark of
a Christian as faith itself. Do not think we have done with repenting
when we come to Christ and receive the remission of our sins by the
blood that did once atone. No; we shall repent as long as we sin, and
as long as we need the precious blood for cleansing. While there is
sin, or a proneness to any kind of sin, lurking in us, the grace of God
will make us loathe the sin and humble ourselves before the Most High
on account of it.
Now, I think our text seems to say just this: there were some that
admired the church. They said she was fair. She seemed to say, "Don't
say it; you don't know what I am, or you would not praise me." Oh,
there is nothing that brings a blush to a genuine Christian's face like
praising him; for he feels–"Praise such a heap of dirt as I am? Give
any credit to such a worthless worm as I am? No; do not cast admiring
glances at me! Do not say, That man has many virtues and many
excellences!' Look not upon me, for I am black.'" Are there not some
who will imitate any Christian–and be very right in so doing–any
Christian who is eminently godly and holy? There will be many who will
follow in his footsteps. I think I see such a man turn round to his
followers, and say: "Do not look at me; do not copy me. I am black.
Copy a better model even Jesus. If I follow in his footsteps, follow
me; but inasmuch as I have gone astray like a lost sheep, follow the
shepherd; do not follow my example." Every Christian, in proportion as
he lives near to God, will feel this self-abasement, this lowliness of
heart; and if others talk of admiring or of imitating him, he will say,
"Look not upon me, for I am black." And as he thus, in deep humility,
begs that he be not exalted, he will often desire others that they
would not despise him. It will come into his mind, "Such-and-such a man
of God is a Christian indeed; as he sees my weakness, he will contemn
me. Such-and-such a disciple of Christ is strong; he will never be able
to bear with my weakness. Such-and-such a Christian woman does, indeed,
adorn the doctrine of God her Savior; but as for me, alas! I am not
what I ought to be, nor what I would be. Christ of God, do not look
upon me with scorn. I will not say that you have motes in your own
eyes. I have a beam in mine. Look not upon me too severely. Judge me
not harshly. If you do look at me, look to Christ for me, and pray that
I may be helped; for I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me.'"
Still I would have you beware of affecting aught that you do not feel.
Humility itself may be counterfeited with much ostentation. Wherever
there is anything like cant, as it is practiced by some people who
depreciate themselves but do not mean it, it is loathsome to the last
degree. I recollect a very proud man, certainly twice as proud as he
was high, who used to pray for himself as "God's poor dust." There was
nothing, I am sure, about his conduct and conversation that entitled
him to use any such expression. I have heard of a monk who said he was
full of sin–he was as bad as Judas; and when somebody said, "That is
true," he turned round, and said, "What did I ever do that you should
say so?" The effrontery of the arrogant is not more odious than the
servility of the sycophant. There is a great deal of self-abnegation
which is not genuine; it is the offspring of self-conceit, and not of
self-knowledge. Much that we say of ourselves would mightily offend our
vainglory if anybody else said the same of us. Oh, let us beware of
mock humility! At the same time, the more of the genuine article we
have the better, and the more truthfully we can cry out to God's
people, "Look not upon me, because I am black," the more clear will it
be that we are, after all, amongst the fairest.
But I pass on. The most diligent Christian–let this stand for the
second observation–the most diligent Christian will be the man most
afraid of the evils connected with his work. "Evils connected with his
work!" says one. "Does work for God have evils contingent upon it?"
Yes; but for every evil connected with the work of God, there are ten
evils connected with idleness. Nay, all you professors who are doing,
nothing, are wearing yourselves out faster by rust than you could have
done by honest wear. But, you see, in the case of our text, there was
evil connected with work. She had been made a keeper of the vineyards,
and having to trim the vines, the sun had shone upon her; and she says,
"Look not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon
me." The blackness that she confessed was a blackness occasioned by her
having to bear the burden and heat of the day.
And now I speak to such as live in active service, doing the work of
God. Dear brethren, there are certain evils connected with our lifework
coming of the sun that looks upon us, which we should confess before
our heavenly Father. I speak now only to the workers. I have known some
whom the sun has looked upon in this respect; their zeal has grown cold
through non-success. You went out, first of all, as a Christian, full
of fire and life. You intended to push the church before you, and drag
the world after you. Peradventure you thought that you were going to
work a Reformation almost as great as that of Luther. Well, much of
that was of the flesh, though beneath the surface there was an earnest
zeal for God which was eating you up. But you have been mixed up with
Christians for some years of a very cool sort. Use the thermometer
to-night. Has not the spiritual temperature gone down in your own soul?
Perhaps you have not seen many conversions under your ministry? or in
the class which you conduct you have not seen many children brought to
Jesus? Do you feel you are getting cool? Then wrap your face in your
mantle to-night! and say: "Look not upon me, for in losing my zeal I am
black, for the sun hath looked upon me." Perhaps it has affected you in
another way, for the sun does not bring freckles out on all faces in
the same place. Perhaps it is your temper that is grown sour? When you
joined the church you felt all love, and you expected, as you had a
right to do, that everybody would reciprocate the same feeling; it may
be that since then you have had to do battle against contentions. You
have been in a part of the church where there has been a strife, not
altogether for the faith once delivered to the saints, but something of
a party feeling was mixed with it, and you have had to take some share
in it. And perhaps you have gradually acquired a carping, critical
habit, so that where you used to enjoy the word, you are now all for
judging the preacher. You are not so much a feeder upon the word, as a
mere taster of the dishes, to see if you cannot find some fault with
their flavour. Wrap your face again, I beseech you, in your mantle.
Again bow before God, and say: "Look not upon me, because I am black;
the sun hath looked upon me. In my service for God I have been
impaired." Perhaps, dear friend, you have suffered in another way! I
sometimes suffer in this respect very materially. The Christian's walk
ought to be calm, peaceful, quiet, unruffled. Leaving everything with
the Lord, and waiting his will, our peace should be like a river. But
you know that, when there is much to be done in God's service, there is
a very strong temptation to want to push this and that thing forward
with undue haste. Or if it does not move quickly at the rate you would
wish, there is a temptation to be sad, careful, and anxious; to be, in
fact, like Martha, cumbered with much service. When you get into that
condition it is an injury to yourself and really prejudicial to your
own work; for they serve Christ best who commune with him most, and
broken fellowship means broken strength. Yet this is often our trouble;
our energies are exhausted by worry more than by work. Part of our duty
is neglected through unexpected cares that have distracted our
thoughts. Pardon me, if I transfer the thing to myself in a figure. Say
that this Tabernacle wants all my vigilance concentrated upon its
welfare. Then there is another matter that wants instant attention at
the same time. Here is a soul seeking Christ; here is another
backsliding; here is a brother falling to ears with a brother.
Innumerable things crowd upon one's view and clamor for immediate
investigation till one gets disturbed and troubled. "Look not upon me,
because I am black; because the sun hath looked upon me. The work I
have engaged in for thee hath brought me into the sun, and burnt my
face." It ought to be bright and fair with fellowship; it is soiled and
begrimed with service.
Sometimes this evil of sun-burning will come in the shape of joy taken
away from the heart by weariness. I do not think, dear brethren, any of
us are weary of God's work. If so, we never were called to it. But we
may get weary in it. You recollect, some of you here–I speak to such
as often preach the gospel–how happy you were when first you were
permitted to open your mouth for Christ! Oh, what a joy it was! What a
pleasure! How you threw your whole soul into it! There was no
sleepiness and dulness in your sermon then. But now, year after year,
year after year, your brain gets weary, and though the spirit is
willing, the flesh is weak; the joy you once had in the service was
your strength, and it has some what gone from you. The toil is more
irksome when the spirits are less buoyant. Well, I would advise you to
confess this before God, and ask for a medicine to heal you. You had
need get your joy back, but first you must acknowledge that you have
lost it. Say, "I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me."
On the other hand, it is a bad result of a good work when our humility
is injured thereby. Place a Christian man in a position where he has to
do much for Christ, and is much thought of and set by: let him have
great success: and the tendency will be for him to compliment himself
as though he were some great one. You cannot reap great sheaves for the
Master without this temptation coming over your soul. What a glorious
workman you are, and what a great reward will your soul have for having
done so well! It is the sun looking upon you; taking away the fairness
of your humility, freckling and blackening your face with a pride that
is obnoxious to God. This ought to be confessed at once and heartily
repented of.
I do not think I shall attempt to go through the list of all the
matters that might come out of Christian service. It will suffice me to
say, I am afraid that in many cases our motives get mixed. Pure and
simple at first in our service, we may get at last to serve Christ only
because it is our office to do so. Woe to the man that preaches only
because he is a minister, and does not preach because he loves Christ!
We may get also to be self-reliant. It is a great mercy for God's
ministers when they tremble on going into the pulpit, even though they
have been accustomed to preach for twenty years. Martin Luther declares
that he never feared the face of man; and all who knew him could bear
witness that it was even so; yet he said he never went up the stairs of
the pulpit at Wittenburg but he felt his knees knock together with fear
lest he should not be faithful to God and his truth. When we begin to
rely upon ourselves' and think we can do it, and our experience and our
practice will suffice to bear us safely through the next discourse
without help from on high, then the sun has looked upon us, and
blackened our face indeed, and the time of our usefulness draws to a
close. Come, Christian people, brethren and sisters, thankful though I
am that I can address so large a number who are engaged in the Master's
work, I beseech you, let us go together to the footstool of the
heavenly grace, confess there our blackness, and own that much of it
has come upon us even while we were engaged in the service of God.
In the third place, the most watchful Christian is conscious of the
danger of self-neglect. That is the next part of our text. "they made
me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I not kept."
Solemnly, let me speak again to my brethren who are seeking to glorify
Christ by their lives. I met some time ago with a sermon by that famous
divine, Mr. Henry Melvill, which consists all through of one solitary
thought, and one only image well worked out. I will give you the pith
of what took some eight pages to get through. He supposes a man to be a
guide in Switzerland. It is his duty to conduct travelers in that
country through the sublime passes, and to point out to them the
glories of the scenery, and the beauties of the lakes, and streams, and
glaciers, and hills. This man, as he continues in his office, almost
inevitably gets to repeat his descriptions as a matter of course; and
everybody knows how a guide at last comes to "talk book," and just
iterate words which do not awaken any corresponding feeling in his own
mind. Yet when he began, perhaps it was a sincere love of the sublime
and the beautiful that led him to take up the avocation of a guide; and
at first it really was to him a luxury to impart to others what he had
felt amidst the glories of nature; but as, year after year, to hundreds
of different parties, he had to repeat much the same descriptions, call
attention to the same sublimities, and indicate the same beauties, it
is almost impossible but that he should get to be at last a mere
machine. Through the hardening tendency of custom, and the debasing
influence of gain, his aptest descriptions and most exquisite eulogies
come to be of no greater account than the mere language of a hireling.
This thought I will not work out in extenso as that famous preacher has
done, but I give it to you as a cutting, which may germinate if planted
in the garden of your heart. Every worker for Christ is deeply
concerned in the application of this parable; because the peril of self
complacency increases in precisely the same ratio as the zeal of
proselytising. When counselling others, you think yourself wise. When
warning others, you feel yourself safe. When judging others, you
suppose yourself above suspicion. You began the work with a flush of
ardor; it may be with a fever of enthusiasm; a sacred instinct
prompted, a glowing passion moved you. How will you continue it? Here
is the danger–the fearful danger–lest you do it mechanically, fall
into a monotony, continue in the same train, and use holy words to
others with no corresponding feeling in your own soul. May we not stir
others up to devout emotions, and yet our own hearts fail to burn with
the sacred fire? Oh, may it not be easy for one to stand as a signpost
on the road to heaven, and never stir himself? Every preacher who
judges himself aright knows that this is the risk he incurs; and I
believe the same danger in a measure threatens Christ in every form of
work in which they occupy themselves for Christ. Dear friends, beware
of reading the Bible for other people. Get your own text–your own
morsel of marrow and fatness–out of Scripture; and do not be satisfied
to be sermon-making or lesson-making for your class in the
Sunday-school. Feed on the word yourselves, or else your own vineyard
will not be kept. When you are on your knees in prayer, pray for others
by all means; but, oh, let private prayer be kept up with a view to
your own edification and your own growth in grace as well. Preach not
the Savior's blood, and yet be without the blood mark on yourselves.
Tell not of the fountain, and yet go unwashed. Do not point to heaven,
and then turn your back to it and go down to hell. Fellow-workers, look
to yourselves, lest after having preached to others ye yourselves
should be cast away. Your neighbors certainly, but yourselves also; the
children in your class certainly, your own children at home certainly,
but look to yourselves also, oh, ye that are workers in God's house,
lest ye keep the vineyards of others and your own vineyards be not
kept. It is very possible for a man to get to dislike the very religion
which he feels bound still by force of custom to go on teaching to
others. "Is that possible?" says one. Alas! that it is. Have you never
heard of the flower-girl in the streets? What is her occupation! I dare
say some girls like her have passed by and seen her with a great basket
full of violets, and said: "What a delightful occupation, to have that
fragrant smell for ever near to one!" Yes, but there was one girl who
sold them, and said she hated the smell of violets. She had got to
loathe them, and to think that there was no smell in the world so
offensive, because they were always under her nostrils all day, and
taken home to her little scanty room at night, and having nothing but
violets around her, she hated them altogether. And I do believe that
there are persons without the grace of Christ in their hearts who keep
on talking about grace, and mercy, and practicing prayer, and yet in
their heart of hearts they hate the very fragrance of the name of
Jesus, and need that there should come upon them an awakening out of
their sleep of presumption and hypocrisy, to make them know that though
they thought they were the friends of God, they were, after all, his
enemies. They were mere keepers of other men's vineyards, but their own
vineyards had gone to ruin.
Our last reflection is of the deepest importance. The most
conscientious Christian will be the first to enquire for the antidote,
and to use the cure.
What is the cure? The cure is found in the verse next to my text. "Look
not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me.
They made me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I
not kept." What next? "Tell me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou
feedest, where thou makest thy flock to rest at noon: for why should I
be as one that turneth aside by the flocks of thy companions?" See,
then, you workers, if you want to keep up your freshness, and not to
get blackened by the sun under which you labor, go to your Lord
again–go and talk to him. Address him again by that dear name, "Thou
whom my soul loveth." Ask to have your first love rekindled; strive
after the love of your espousals. There are men in married life who
seem to have forgotten that they ever loved their wives; but there are
others concerning whom the hymn is true–
"And as year rolls after year,
Each to other still more dear."
So there are some Christians who seem to forget that they ever loved
the Savior; but I trow there are others in whom that love deepens and
becomes more fervent as each year passes over their heads. If any of
you are at fault in this, do not give sleep to your eyelids to-night
till you have renewed your espousal love. Thy Lord recollects it, if
thou dost not, for he says: "I remember thee, the kindness of thy
youth, the love of thine espousals, when thou wentest after me in the
wilderness, in a land that was not sown." You did some wild things in
those early days. You were a great deal more zealous than wise; but,
though you look back upon that with censure, Christ regards it with
delight. He wishes you were now as you were then. Perhaps to-day you
are not quite cold to him. Do not flatter yourself on that account; for
he has said, "I would thou wert cold or hot." It is just lukewarmness
that he loathes most of all, and he has threatened to spue the lukewarm
out of his mouth. Oh, to be always full of love to him! You will never
get any hurt by working for him then; your work will do you good. The
sweat of labor will even make your face the fairer. The more you do for
souls, the purer, and the holier, and the more Christ will you be, if
you do it with him. Keep up the habit of sitting at his feet, like
Mary, as well as serving him with Martha. You can keep the two
together; they will balance each other, and you shall not be barren or
unfruitful, neither shall you fall into the blackness which the sun is
apt to breed. O for more nearness to Christ, more love to Christ, and
closer communion with him! Did you notice what the spouse said: "Tell
me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest?" I suppose her
object was to go and feed with him. Look to the feeding of your own
soul, Christian. When a man says, "I have a hard day's work to do, I
shall have no time to eat," you know full well that he is losing time
where he thinks he gains it; for if he does not keep himself in good
repair he will sicken by-and-by, and in the long run he will do less
than if he gave himself due pause. So is it with your soul. You cannot
give out a vital energy which you have not got in you healthy and
vigorous; and if you have not got power from God in your own soul,
power cannot come out of you, for it is not there. Do, therefore, feed
upon Christ. Or do you feel yourself like that guide of whom we spoke
just now? Has the routine of service blunted your sensibilities, till
you gaze unmoved on those objects of beauty and marvel that should
awaken every passion and thrill every nerve of your being? Ask then in
what way he might keep up his interest in the lakes and the mountains?
Would it not be well for him, occasionally, at any rate, to take a
lonely journey to find out new features in the gorgeous scenery or to
stand in solitude, and see the hills in a fresh light, or mark the
forest trees in different states of the weather; so that he might again
renew his own sensations of admiration, and of gratitude to God for
having created such sublimities? Then I can readily believe his
enthusiasm would increase rather than abate by an increasing
familiarity with the landscape. And you, worker for God, you must go to
God alone; feed on precious truth for yourself; dig into the deep
things of God and enrich your own spirit. Thus you may serve God as
much as ever you will: you will get no hurt therefrom. Did you notice
that she also asked: "Tell me where thou makest thy flock to rest at
noon?" Rest is what the worker wants. Where is the rest of Christ's
flock but in his own dear bosom? Where is there repose, but in his own
fidelity, in the two immutable things wherein it is impossible for God
to lie–the oath and the promise? Oh, never turn away from that rest!
Turn into it again, to-night, beloved. As for me, I feel I want my
Savior more than ever I did. Though I have preached his gospel now
these five-and-twenty years and more, I need still to come and cling to
his cross as a guilty sinner, and find "life for a look at the
crucified One," just as I did at first. O that God's grace may ever
keep the most ardent among us always faithful with our own soul,
abiding in the Lord, and rejoicing in him!
I have done. This is my word to workers. Let me only say to you for
whom there has seemed nothing in the sermon, if you are not workers for
Christ, you are workers against him. "He that is not with me is against
me; and he that gathereth not with me scattereth abroad." O souls, why
should you stand out against the Savior? Why should you resist him?
Bleeding out his life for his enemies, the mirror of disinterested
love, what is there in him that can make you fight against him? Drop
your weapons, man! Drop them to-night, I charge you by the living God!
And come now, ask pardon through the precious blood, and it shall be
given you. Seek a new heart, and a right spirit. The Holy Ghost will
work it. From this night be a worker for Christ. The church wants you.
The armies of Christ need recruiting. Take the proffered blessing, and
become a soldier of the cross; and may the Lord build up his Zion by
many of you who were not his people aforetime, but of whom it is said:
"They were not my people, but they shall be the people of the living
God."
"The Treasury Of David."
By C. H. Spurgeon. Vols. I & II.
This Work is the substance of many Libraries. It contains the essence
of all the commentators upon the Psalms, both ancient and modern.
Besides containing original observations by the Author, it is crowded
with the wisdom of hundreds of the most eminent writers. Reviewers
pronounce the work to be of the highest value. The volumes are
published at 8s. each, and contain far more matter than is generally
sold for half a guinea. Vol. I. is now in the fourth thousand.
Published by PASSMORE & ALABASTER, Paternoster Row, and may be had of
all Booksellers.