The Bed and Its Covering
A Sermon
(No. 244)
Delivered on Sabbath Evening, January 9th, 1859, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON
at New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.
"For the bed is shorter than that a man can stretch himself on it: and
the covering narrower than that he can wrap himself in it."–Isaiah
28:20.
GOD HAS SO made men, that there are two things essential for their
comfort, if not for their very existence, namely, sleep and clothing.
Had God so pleased it, he might have made man an everlasting watcher,
upon whose eyes the mists of night never should descend, and upon whose
eyelids the fingers of sleep never should be placed. Perhaps angelic
spirits never sleep. Day without night they circle God's throne
rejoicing, and ceaselessly they chant his praise. Perhaps their
unflagging wings are always stretched for duty, and their untiring
voices are ever occupied with song. But manifestly it is not so with
man. We need "kind nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep." If we could
not sleep, should we not even wish for death? Let sleep be long
withholder from our eyelids, if we had no other disease our strength
must become prostrate, and the fire of life would smoulder into the
ashes of death. Sleep, therefore, is essential even to the very
existence of our bodies on earth. Clothing also is needful for our
comfort, and, at least in some climates, absolutely necessary for our
very existence. God has made the animal creation of such a kind, that
they grow their clothing upon their own backs. For the horse and for
the sheep no loom works, nor cloth the shuttle hasten in its course.
Their backs are their own webs, and they fashion their own garments, as
if to teach us, that man alone is imperfect, and needs to long beyond
himself: Other creatures can readily find their own habitations, and
produce for themselves out of themselves; but man feels his nakedness,
and must either seek for the fig leaf of his own righteousness, or else
the Lord God must make for him a dress with which he may array himself
and stand completely covered. Dress, I say, is essential to man–dress
and sleep.
Now, I think it may be readily granted, that man's body is, after all,
only a picture of his inner being: just what the body needs materially,
that the soul needs spiritually. The soul, then, needs two things. It
requires rest, which is pictured to us in sleep. The soul needs a bed
upon which it may repose quietly and take its ease. And, again, the
soul needs covering, for as a naked body would be both uncomfortable,
unseemly, and dangerous; much more would the naked soul be unhappy,
noxious to the eye of God, and utterly miserable in itself.
Now, our text tells us that men have sought for rest and for clothing
where they are not to be found; that they have gone about to make a bed
for themselves which is shorter than that they can stretch themselves
upon it; and that they have also sought to make coverings for
themselves which have turned out to be narrower than that they can wrap
themselves in them.
We shall speak, first, of what man has done, and of his vain and futile
attempts to find rest and clothing for his soul;and then, afterward, we
shall briefly attempt to show how God has accomplished this, and has
given to the believer a couch upon which he can to his utmost length
and yet find that the bed is long enough, and how the Lord has given
him a garment in which he may grow, but he shall always find that,
broad as he shall become in the magnitude of his experience or of his
sin, yet shall this covering be always broad enough to cover him.
I. Well, then, let us take the first figure. The bed is shorter than
that a man can stretch himself on it. MEN TRY, THEN, TO MAKE BEDS ON
WHICH THEIR SOULS MAY REST. One of the most uncomfortable things in the
world, I should think, would be a spare bed–a bed so spare that a man
should not have room stretch himself on it. I cannot conceive how
miserable a poor wretch must be who would be condemned to seek an
unresting rest, an uneasy ease on a couch shorter than his body. But
that is just the condition of all men while they are seeking a rest
anywhere else but in the "rest that remaineth for the people of God."
With reference to a man's present aims, and present attainments, all
that he can ever get on earth is a bed shorter than that he can stretch
himself on it. Then, in the next place, we shall notice as to the
future world, that all that man can do, if we come to consider it, is
too little to give ease to the heart.
First then as to the present world, how many beds are there of marks
own invention. One man has made himself a bedstead of gold; the pillars
thereof are of silver, the covering thereof is of Tyrian purple, the
pillows are filled with down, such as only much fine gold could buy
him; the hangings he hath embroidered with threads of gold and silver,
and the curtains are drawn upon rings of ivory. Lo, this man hath
ransacked creation for luxuries, and invented to himself all manner of
sumptuous delights. He gets unto himself broad acres and many lands; he
adds house to house, and field to field; he digs, he toils, he labors,
he is in hopes that he shall get enough, a sufficiency, a satisfactory
inheritance. He proceeds from enterprise to enterprise, he invests his
money in one sphere of labor, and then another. He attempts to multiply
his gold, until it gets beyond all reckoning. He becomes a merchant
prince, a millionaire, and he says unto himself; Soul, take thine ease;
eat, drink, and be merry; thou hast much goods laid up for many years."
Do you mat envy this man his bed? Are there not some of you, whose only
object in life is to get such a couch for yourselves? You say, "He has
well-feathered his nest; would to God that I could do the same for
myself!" Ah, but do you know that this bed is shorter than that he can
stretch himself upon it? If you cast yourself upon it for a moment, the
bed is long enough for you, but it is not long enough for him. I have
often thought that many a man's riches would be sufficient for me, but
they are not sufficient for him. If he makes them his God, and seeks in
in them his happiness, you never find the man has money enough, his
lands are still too narrow and his estate too small. When he begins to
stretch himself, he finds there is something wanted; if the bed could
only be made a little longer, then, he thinks, he could be quiet and
have room enough. But when the bed is lengthened, he finds he has grown
longer, too, and when his fortune has grown as big as the bedstead of
Og, king of Bashan, even then he finds he cannot lie upon it easily.
Nay, we read of one man who stretched himself along the whole world
which he had conquered; but he found there was me room, and he began to
weep because there were not other worlds to conquer. One would have
thought a little province would have been enough for him to rest in.
Oh, no; so big is man when he stretches himself, that the whole world
does not suffice him. Nay, if God should give to the avaricious all the
mines of Peru, all the glittering diamonds of Golconda, all the wealth
of worlds, and if he were then to transmute the stars into gold and
silver, and make us emperors of an entire universe till we should talk
of constellations as men talk of hundreds, yea, and talk of universes
as often talk of thousands, even then the bed would not be long enough
whereon we might stretch our ever-lengthening desires. The soul is
wider than creation, broader than space; give it all, it would be still
unsatisfied, and man would not find rest. You say, "That is strange: if
I had a little more I should be very well satisfied." You make a
mistake: if you are not content with what you have you would not be
satisfied if it were doubled. "Nay," says one, "I should be." You do
not know yourself. If you have fixed your affection on the things of
this world, that affection is like a horse-leech; it cries, "Give!
give!" It will suck, suck, suck to all eternity, and still cry, "Give,
give!" and though you give it all, it has not gotten enough. The bed,
in fact, "is shorter than that a man can stretch himself on it."
Let us look in another direction. Other men have said. "Well. I do not
care for gold and silver; thank God I have no avarice." But they have
been ambitious. "Oh," says one, "it I might be famous, what would I not
do? Oh, if my name might be handed down to posterity, as having done
something, and having been somebody, a man of note, how satisfied would
I be!" And the man has so acted that he has at last made for himself a
bed of honor. He has become famous. There is scarce a newspaper which
does not record his name. His name is become a household word; nations
listen to his voice; thousands of trumpets proclaim his deeds. He is a
man, and the world knows it, and stamps him with the adjective "great:"
he is called "a great man." See how soft and downy is his bed. What
would some of you give to rest upon it! He is fanned to sleep by the
breath of fame, and the incense of applause smokes in his chamber. The
world waits to refresh him with renewed flattery. Oh, would you not
give your ears and eyes if you might have a bed like that to rest upon.
But did you ever read the history of famous men, or hear them tell
their tale in secret? "Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown," even
though it be the laurel coronet of honor. When the man is known, it is
not enough; he asks for wider praise. There was a time when the
approbation of a couple of old women was a fame to him; now the
approbation of ten thousand is nothing. He talks of men as if they were
but flocks of wild asses and what he looked up to once as a high
pinnacle is now beneath his feet. He must go higher and higher, and
higher, though his head is reeling, though his brain is whirling,
though his feet are slipping, he must go higher. He has done a great
thing; he must do more. He seems to stride across the world; he must
leap further yet, for the world will never believe a man famous unless
he constantly outdoes himself. He must not only do a great thing
to-day, but he must do a greater thing to-morrow, the next day a
greater still, and pile his mountains one upon another until he mounts
the very Olympus of the demigods. But suppose he gets there, what does
he say? "Oh, that I could go back to my cottage, that I might be all
unknown, that I might have rest with my family and be quiet. Popularity
is a care which I never endured until now, a trouble that I never
guessed. Let me lose it all; let me go back." He is sick of it; for the
fact is, that man never can be satisfied with anything less than the
approbation of heaven; and until conscience gets that, all the applause
of senates and of listening princes, would be a bed shorter than a man
could stretch himself upon it.
There is another bed on which man thinks he could rest. There is a
watch, a painted harlot, who wears the richest gems in her ears and a
necklace of precious things about her neck. She is an old deceiver. She
was old and shrivelled in the days of Bunyan; she painted herself then,
she paints now, and paint she will as long as the world endureth. And
she gaddeth forth, and men think her young and fair and lovely, and
desirable: her name is Madam Wanton. She keeps a house wherein; she
feasteth men, and maketh them drunken with the wine of pleasure, which
is as honey to the taste, but is venom to the soul. This witch, when
she can, entices men into her bed. "There," she says, "there, how
daintily have I spread it!" It is a bed, the pillars whereof are
pleasure; above is the purple of rapture and beneath is the soft repose
of luxurious voluptuousness. Oh, what a bed is this! Solomon once laid
in it, and many since his time have sought their rest there. They have
said, "Away with your gold and silver: let me spend it, that I may eat,
drink, and be merry, for to-morrow I die. Tell me not of fame, I care
not for it. I would sooner have the pleasures of life, or the joys of
Bacchus, than the laurel of fame. Let me give myself up to the
intoxication of this world's delights, let me be drowned in the butt of
Burgundy of this world's joys." Have you ever seen such men as that? I
have seen many and wept over them, and I know some now, they are
stretching themselves on that bed, and trying to make themselves happy.
Byron is just a picture of such men, though he outdid others. What a
bed was that he stretched for himself. Was ever libertine more free in
his vices? was ever sinner more wild in his blasphemy? was ever poet
more daring in his flights of thought? was ever man more injurious to
his fellows than he? And yet what did Byron say? There is a verse which
just tells you what he felt in his heart. The man had all that he
wanted of sinful pleasure, but here is his confession–
"I fly like a bird of the air,
In search of a home and a rest;
A balm for the sickness of care,
A bliss for a bosom unblest."
And yet he found it not. He had no rest in God. He tried pleasure till
his eyes were red with it; he tried vice till his body was sick; and he
descended into his grave a premature old man. If you had asked him, and
he had spoken honestly, he would have said, the bed was shorter than
that he could stretch himself upon it. No, young man, you may have all
the vices, and all the pleasure and mirth of this metropolis, and there
is much to be found, of which I make no mention here, and when you have
it all, you will find it does not equal your expectation nor satisfy
your desires. When the devil is bringing you one cup of spiced wine,
you will be asking him next time to spice it higher; and he will
flavour it to your fiery taste, but you will be dissatisfied still,
until at last, if he were to bring you a cup hot as damnation, it would
fall tasteless on your palate. You would say, "Even this is tasteless
to me, except in the gall, and bitter wormwood, and fire that it
brings." It is so with all worldly pleasure: there is no end to it; it
is a perpetual thirst. It is like the opium eater; he eats a little,
and he dreams such strange wonders; and he wakes, and where are they?
Such dreamers, when awake, look like dead men, with just animation
enough to enable them to crawl along. The next time, to get to their
elysium, they must take more opium, and the next time more and more,
and all the while, they are gradually going down an inclined plane into
their graves. That is just the effect of human pleasure, and all
worldly sensual delights; they only end in destruction; and even while
they last, they are not wide enough for our desire, they are not large
enough for our expectations, "for the bed is shorter than that a man
can stretch himself on it."
Now think, for a moment, of the Christian, and see the picture
reversed. I will suppose the Christian at his very worst state, though
there is no reason why I should do so. The Christian is not necessarily
poor; he may be rich. Suppose him poor. He has not a foot of land to
call his own; he lives by the day, and he lives well, for his Master
keeps a good cupboard for him, and furnishes him with all he requires.
He has nothing in this world except the promise of God with regard to
the future. The wordly man laughs at the promise, and says it is good
for nothing. Now look at the Christian; he says,–
"There's nothing round this spacious globe,
Which suits my large desires;"
To nobler joys than nature give,
Thy servant, Lord, aspires.
What, poor man, are you perfectly content? "Yes," says he, "it is my
Father's will that I should live in poverty. I am perfectly content."
"Well, but is there nothing else you wish for?" "Nothing," says he, "I
have the presence of God; I have delight in communion with Christ; I
know that there is laid up for me a crown of life that fadeth not
away,' and more I cannot want. I am perfectly content; my soul is at
rest." In the Christian religion there is a rest that no one can enjoy
elsewhere. Oh! I can say as in the sight of God, my soul is perfectly
at rest. "I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at
the latter-day upon the earth; and though after my skin worms destroy
this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God." I know that my sins are
forgiven, that I am accepted in the beloved. I know there is nothing
more that I want except what I have already, for Christ is all and more
than all. What can my soul desire more? As for temporals I can leave
them in my Father's hands; as for spirituals I can leave them also with
him. "My soul is even as a wearied child," resting on its mother's
breast. Nothing more I can ask. And now let me stretch myself upon this
bed. Let me think of the largest desire that heart ever had, and I find
it not at all greater than this bed. What do I ask for? I ask for
immortality, I have it here. What do I pant for? I pant for ceaseless,
boundless bliss, I have it here. I pant to be God's child, I have it
here. I pant to be rich to all intents of bliss, I have the promise
here, and I shall have the fruition of it hereafter. I long for
perfection. Is that a stretch indeed? And that I have, "perfect in
Christ Jesus." I have the promise that "the Lord will perfect that
which concerneth me." Oh! I wish you would try and stretch yourselves a
moment. Come, let your spirits stretch themselves with all their might.
Put out your hands till they grasp the east and west, and let your head
and feet lie at either pole of this round world, and is there not room
for you in the promise, room in the gospels Nay, reach into the far-off
eternity, and let your soul desire the utmost it can conceive, and
still the bed is long enough:–"He is able to do exceeding abundantly
above what you can ask or even think." Now, try and think your best,
and he shall exceed it; come and ask your most, and God shall give you
more. Oh! blessed is the sleep of the Christian. He sleeps in a bed
supported by the everlasting arms of the Saviour. He sleeps there
fanned by the breath of the Spirit, and knowing that when he wakes up
he shall wake up in the likeness of his Saviour, in the likeness of his
God.
Thus, I think I have given you some idea of the meaning of this text,
"The bed is shorter than that a man can stretch himself on it." Now,
just for a moment think of this bed in the sense of another world. And
here we may say of all the sinner's hope, that it is a bed shorter than
that he can stretch himself upon it, Sinner, thou that art without God
and without Christ, ask thyself this question, What is thy bed for
eternity? What is thy rest in another world? Perhaps, that is a
question you have never asked yourself. Ask it now. "Oh," says one, "I
am no worse than my neighbors." Is that bed long enough for eternity?
Nay, assuredly not. "Nay," says one, "I care not how I shall fare, I
shall take my fate." And is that long enough for eternity? You cannot
draw any consolation from that when you stand at God's bar. "Nay," says
another, "I won't think about it." And is that long enough for
eternity? "Ah," cries another, "I go to church, and chapel, and so
forth, and that will do." Is that long enough for eternity? You have
now to stretch yourself. Let conscience strain you, let death put you
on the rack, and pull you out a little, and the bed is not long enough
for you. You are obliged to feel that you are uneasy. Nay, there is not
a man out of Christ that is not uneasy at times. Harden your conscience
as you may, sometimes it will arouse you. Put Mr. Conscience down in a
back street, so that the daylight cannot come to him, but you cannot
silence him; he has a voice as loud as thunder, and sometimes he will
awaken you. I do not care who the infidel is, or what he says: it is
mere brag, there is nothing in it. Men who cannot fight are always very
big before they come to the battle. So it is with the Infidel, the
Atheist, the Socinian; they are very great men when they talk to us,
but they know they have none of the greatness that they pretend to;
they have none really, for their own consciences cannot rest. I do
affirm, again, that there is no man who has a solid peace, a perfect
satisfaction in his own mind, but the man who believes in the Lord
Jesus Christ, trusts him entirely for his soul's salvation, and puts
his hopes and his expectations only in the Lord his God. That man has a
bed that is large enough; though he were himself as tall as the
heavens, and as broad as the earth.
II. Now for the second part of my text. MEN MUST HAVE A COVERING. And
here we are told that there are some people who make a covering, but it
is narrower than they can wrap themselves in it. There is one garment,
friends, that never is too narrow, though the sinner be the hugest
sinner that ever trod this earth, and that is the garment of the
perfect righteousness of our Lord Jesus Christ. Besides that, there is
none other long enough or broad enough.
Now, there are some sinners that think they have clothed themselves,
when they have only made for themselves a nightcap. Don't smile–that's
a fact. There are spiritual nightcaps to be bought in London. "What is
that?" says one. Well it is woven in the loom of hyper-calvinism. It is
high doctrine cut off from God's Word, taken away from its connection,
taken altogether away from that part of divine truth with which we have
most to do as sinners, and it is made into an antidote for all the
twitchings of man's conscience, and into a soporific whereby souls are
sent to sleep, preparatory to their being cast into the arms of Satan.
Men get into their heads a doctrinal opinion. That opinion is right,
true, good–I will preach that opinion against any man; but men forget
that opinions are not evidences of salvation if the walk and
conversation are not right. They read, for instance, such a passage as
this: "There is therefore now no condemnation to them that are in
Christ Jesus." Well, they say, "I am in Christ Jesus; there is no
condemnation for me!" they put that on their heads, they go to sleep in
it, and they think they are covered, because they have simply wrapped
this false covering about their heads. They have a blindfold about
their eyes, and they cannot see their nakedness, and therefore, they
think there is no such thing. Oh, I am grieved to think that there are
men who flatter that craving of corrupt nature, after something that is
not salvation by Christ. You may as easily be destroyed by trusting in
good doctrine as by trusting in good works; for recollect, beloved,
that believing right, will no more save you, (if it is only believing
right doctrine) than doing right will save you. It is believing in the
Lord Jesus Christ, and receiving his spirit and being made like unto
him, is the only salvation that will stand the test of the day of
judgment. I used to have a man sitting in front of the gallery, (not in
this chapel,) but he used always to nod his head when I was preaching a
doctrine; and I remember once, I thought I would cure that old
gentleman of nodding his head, for he was about as bad a rascal as ever
lived. Whenever I preached about justification, down went his head.
Whenever I preached about imputed righteousness, down went his head. I
was a dear man, no doubt about that; and so I thought I would cure him,
and make his head keep still for once. So I remarked "there is a great
deal of difference between God electing you, and your electing
yourself, a vast deal of difference between God justifying you by his
spirit, and your justifying yourself by a belief that you are justified
when you are not; and this is the difference;" said I to the old man,
who then put me down for a rank Arminian; "you who have elected
yourselves, and justified yourselves, you have no marks of the Spirit;
you have no evidence of piety; you are not holy; you live in sin; you
can walk as sinners walk; you have the image of the devil upon you, and
yet you think you are the children of God." And, now, I say to any here
present who are indulging in the same abominable hypocrisy, this is a
spiritual delusion whereby many believe a lie; and the time will come
when some of us will have to speak as sharply against men who preach
doctrine without practice, as we have to preach against those who
preach not the doctrine of free, sovereign, distinguishing grace. High
doctrine will never cover you. It will only cover you head; it is a
logical covering, made of the right sort of stuff; but it is only a
headpiece, and that is not a complete covering for the naked man.
Now, again, there are some other people who are not content with that.
They do not care particularly about this covering for the head, but
they think they will get a pair of slippers, and thus cover their
nakedness. "What do you mean by that?" says one. Well, good works.
"Ah!" they say, "those doctrinal people, they look to the head; I don't
care about the head, I shall look to the feet." And so they look to the
feet, and they make themselves very decent sort of people, too. They
keep the Sabbath, they frequent the house of God, they read the Bible,
they say a form of prayer, and they try to be honest, sober, and so
forth. Very right. I do not say a word against slippers, only that they
are not a good covering for the whole man I do not say a word against
good slippers; good works are very well, but they are not sufficient.
Good works are like a pair of shoes, but do not let a man think a pair
of shoes can become wide enough to cover his whole body. Such men are
deluded. They think, if their outward walks and conversation is good,
and right, and proper, that, therefore, their whole nakedness is
covered. Oh! never delude yourselves into such an idea as that. Though
you walk in the commandments of the Lord, blameless in the eyes of all
men, yet so long as sin is in your heart, and the past sin of your life
is unforgiven, you stand helpless, unclothed souls, in the estimation
of God, and your garment is too narrow that you may wrap yourself in
it. I have seen some poor souls trying to wrap themselves up in good
works, and they were not long enough. "Oh," says one, "come here, and I
will tie on a bit for you." And so he brings out a yard of good old
stuff that is called "Baptism," and he taggs on that. "Stop," he says,
by-and-bye, "I will bring out something else made by a Bishop, called
"Confirmation," and another yard is put on. "Wait awhile!" says the
man, "you shall have a yard of something else;" and then there is a
yard of what is called "Communion," or "Sacrament," put on. "Now, hold
hard; you know the Catechism, and say it often; you know the prayers
proper to be used at sea, on the land, and the prayers for weddings,
baptisms, and churchings; and now," say they, "by degrees the garment
will be made long enough to go round you." I have seen the poor souls
tug and pull it, to make both ends meet, but they could not. I could
tell you the experience of a member of this church. She says, "I
attended a place of worship regularly, and tried to work out a
righteousness for myself. I could not do it, At last I took to
attending daily service in the Puseyite Church. I became the most
righteous over-much that you could suppose a person to be. I was never
satisfied. I tried sacraments, fasting, private prayer–never good
enough; never could get up to the mark; never felt that the garment was
broad enough in which I could wrap myself." No, and you never will. All
the good works in the world, and all the ceremonies, and all the
praises of men, and all the almsgiving, cannot make a covering broad
enough in which to wrap yourself. Shall I tell you what is sufficient?
It is the garment that is "without seam, woven from the top
throughout;" a garment woven by the bleeding hands of Jesus, and then
dyed in his own blood. If by faith you can put this garment on, it is
broad enough to cover you; though you were wide as giant Goliath, and
though your heads reached to the very clouds, it should be long enough
for all your needs.
So you see that these coverings which men have sought for are not
sufficient. Now, there are some people who are not very particular
about the head, or the feet, but they come nearer the mark–they have
been more particular about the loins. They gird themselves with a
little garment. Their religion is to think. they like to sit at home
and think over the Scripture, to think over certain doctrinal
particulars, aml meditate upon them. They think, for instance, one
church is not right, and they leave that and join another. But they
find that is not right; they tithe the mint there, but they do not
tithe the cummin. And they go to another, where they tithe the cummin,
but where they do not fast six days in the week. The religion of such a
person as this, is the religion of picking holes in other people's
religion. Do you say, "Are there any people of that sort?" Yes, I know
several of them; they are very good souls, if you estimate them by
their own opinion, but if you estimate them by the law and by the
statutes of God, you will find them different. They think that all they
need to do is simply to feel that they are conscientious in what they
are doing. It is very proper and right that they should be
conscientious. I am not going to speak against the garments round the
loins, they are very good; I only speak against a man thinking that is
enough. I do not speak against their nightcaps or slippers, or against
the garment round the loins, they are all good in their places; I only
speak of putting these instead of the complete raiment of Christ. You
may be baptised and re-baptised; you may go from one sect to another,
and secede, and secede, and you will be none the better unless you are
clothed in the matchless, spotless, seamless righteousness of the Lord.
Now, let us bring forth that robe, and let us stand in that. What Jesus
did, and what Jesus suffered, is the inheritance of the believer. Now,
let the believer be never so full of sin, what Jesus suffered covers
all his sin. Let him be never so full of want, the fullness of Jesus
supplies it all. Let him be never so loathesome in his own sight, the
beauty of Christ makes him comely. Let him be cast down in his own
experience, the exaltation of Christ makes him to sit together with him
in heavenly places. There are times when the convinced sinner grows
great in sin. He feels himself as if he were bloated with iniquity; but
even then the garment of Christ is wide enough to wrap him about.
Sometimes he grows so tall in his sin, he feels as if he were proud as
Lucifer; he casts the cowl of the Saviour's righteousness over his
head, and it covers him even then. His feet sometimes seem to tread the
very bottom of the ocean, but the long robe of the Saviour's
righteousness sweeps the bottom of the sea when the feet of the
believer are standing there. All is longer, all is higher, all is
broader than all the height, depth, and length, and breadth of our
backslidings, our iniquities and sins.
What a glorious thing, then it is to be a Christian, to have faith in
Christ, to have the Isaac born in our hearts, the new nature put there.
Come my soul, take thy rest, the great High Priest has full atonement
made. Thou hast much goods laid up, not for many years, but for
eternity; take thine case; eat spiritual things; drink wine on the lees
and be merry; for it cannot be said of thee, "to-morrow thou shalt
die," for thou shalt never die, for "thy life is hid with Christ in
God." Thou art no fool to take thy ease and rest, for this is
legitimate ease and rest, the rest which the God of Sabaoth hath
provided for all his people. And then, O Christian! march boldly to the
river of death, march calmly up to the throne of judgment, enter
placidly and joyfully into the inheritance of thy Lord, for thou hast
about thee an armor that can keep thee from the arrows of death, a
wedding garment that makes thee fit to sit down at the banquet of the
Lord. Thou hast about thee a royal robe that makes thee a fit companion
even for Jesus, the king of kings, when he shall admit thee into his
secret chambers, and permit thee to hold holy and close fellowship with
him. I cannot resist quoting that verse of the hymn,–
"With thy Saviour's garment on,
Thou'rt holy as the Holy One."
That is the sum and substance of it all. And on this bed let us take
our rest, and during this week let us make Christ's work our only
garment, and we shall find it long enough, and broad enough, for us to
wrap ourselves up in it.