Archive of Grace

My Beloved is mine, and I am His: He feedeth among the lilies. Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my Beloved, and be Thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether. (Song of Solomon 2:16-17)

Surely if there be a happy verse in the Bible, it is this — "My Beloved is mine, and I am His." So peaceful, so full of assurance, so overrunning with happiness and contentment is it, that it might well have been written by the same hand which penned the twenty-third Psalm. The verse savors of Him who, an hour before He went to Gethsemane, said, "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give unto you : not as the world giveth, give I unto you." "In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer ; I have overcome the world." Let us ring the silver bell again, for its notes are exquisitely sweet: "My Beloved is mine, and I am His: He feedeth among the lilies." And yet there is a shadow. Though the prospect is exceeding fair and lovely, — earth cannot show its superior, — it is not entirely a sunlit landscape. There is a cloud in the sky which casts a shadow over the scene; though it does not dim it, for everything is clear, and stands out sharply and brightly — "My Beloved is mine, and I am His." That is clear enough, yet it is not altogether sunlight. Listen: "Until the day break, and the shadows flee away."

There is a word, too, about the "mountains of Bether," or "the mountains of division," and to our love anything like division is bitterness. I see here a paschal lamb, but I see bitter herbs with it: I see the lily, but I perceive that it is still among the thorns. Beloved, this may be your present state of mind; you do not doubt your salvation; you know that He is yours, but you are not feasting with Him. You understand your vital interest in Him, so that you have no shadow of a doubt of your being His, and of His being yours; but still His left hand is not under your head, nor doth His right hand embrace you. A shade of sadness is cast over your heart, perhaps by affliction, certainly by the temporary absence of your Lord; so, even while exclaiming, "I am His," you are forced to take to your knees, and to pray, "Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my Beloved."

"Where is He?" asks the soul. And the answer comes, "He feedeth among the lilies." The worldling cares not where Christ is, but that is the Christian's one subject of thought. Jesus is gone among those snow-white lilies which bloom in the pastures of heaven, those golden lilies which are round about the throne. Oh, when shall we be with Him, and partake of His glory? Our impatient spirit yearns for the hour when our marriage shall be consummated and our bliss complete. He is among His lilies here below, those virgin souls who, —

"Whithersoever the Lamb doth lead,
From His footsteps ne'er depart."

If we would find Christ, we must get into communion with His people; we must come to the ordinances with His saints. Though He does not feed on the lilies. He feeds among them, and there, mayhap, we may meet with Him. Oh for an evening glimpse of Him! Oh, to sup with Him tonight! My Lord, by all Thy love to me, deign at this hour to visit me in Thy kindness, and give me the dawn of heaven in my soul. How quickly can He come to me! No feet of roe are half so swift. In a moment He can cheer me with His delightful presence. Come, Lord Jesus, and abide with me forever.

"When wilt Thou come unto me, Lord?
Oh, come, my Lord most dear!
Come near, come nearer, nearer still;
I'm blest when Thou art near."