once, and to proclaim his name from the house tops, and in the streets! Then we gloried in difficulties, that we might overcome them in the strength of the Lord; and we sought for living stones, wherewith speedily to erect a temple to our God. How incomprehensible it appeared to us, that other Christians were so still, so calm and composed; that they did not participate in the fulness of our joy, or join in our triumphal song; that they even uttered sighs and complaints, while we imagined that with sighing and complaining we had for ever done! Do you still recollect this time? Then, in this sense, in which the Bride in the text meant it, we had the Lord upon our couch.

This state was sweet and blessed; but the welfare of our souls required that it should not be perpetual. The Lord in his own time had to lead us forth from this Goshen of spiritual pleasures, from this luxurious pasture of mental enjoyment. For did we not surely begin to be presumptuous, considering ourselves as great saints, and distinguished from others, on account of our blissful serenity of soul? Had we not begun, while rejoicing in our wealth, to be ashamed of the beggar's staff; and had not the sense of need abated, which had compelled us to knock at the door of mercy, and to prostrate ourselves at the rich man's gate, with the poor and destitute? Was it not in reality far more our own piety and fulness of delight, on which we built and rested, and for which we hoped to escape condemnation, than Christ and his merits? Were we not already seeking the foundation of our future bliss in ourselves, instead of without ourselves, in Christ crucified? And

did we not love the bread with which Christ fed us, and the wine which he gave us to drink, much more than himself? We loved and clung to him, it is true-but with what sort of love? Was it the intense, holy, stedfast love, which is grounded on the consciousness that Christ is our Surety, who hath redeemed our souls from hell, and rescued us from consuming fire? Was it a love based on the humiliating thought: I am not worthy that the sun should shine upon me, yet Christ has descended from.heaven for my sake, to save my soul from hell, and to purchase it with his own life? Was it that attachment and clinging to him which spring from the most lively perception of our entire destitution, nothingness, and impotency, and from the conviction that it is on the grace of Christ alone we exist every moment ? Oh no, so far our glance did not extend, neither into the abyss of our own ruin, nor into the depths of the merits of Christ. We had merely skimmed the pool of our misery, and the unfathomable ocean of the Redeemer's love and mercy. Our love to him could, therefore, be only superficial. Single sins had, indeed, presented themselves to our view, but not yet our entire sinfulness; this and that transgression, but not the entire desolation and corruption of our heart; one deformity and another, but not the pernicious sap which pervades us, not the whole image of Belial that we bear within us. In one word: we had adhered to Christ more for the sweet savor of his gifts, than from a sense of our misery, and of His being indispensable to our salvation. This was a lax and weak band, a love which every wind of temptation might destroy-not

an ardent glow, strong as death, and unchangeable as hell-which many waters cannot quench.

II.—But that we may attain unto that perfect state, in which we cling to Christ, no longer for the mere pleasure we enjoy in his presence, but because of the misery we experience in ourselves; no longer for the apples and flowers with which he has regaled us, but because he is necessary to our eternal salvation; not for the pleasurable feelings and delightful hours enjoyed in his kingdom, but because apart from him we feel ourselves abandoned to the wrath and fiery indignation of God, and to all the powers of darkness. That our attitude may be that of exclusive dependence upon him; that we may hang upon his neck and say, 'Lord Jesus, do with me what thou wilt, refresh me or not, fill my heart with manna, or let me suffer want-to thee I cling; for where thou art not, I shall perish in my misery; for out of thee all is darkness, death, and hell,'-that this may be our state, the Lord generally proceeds with us, as he did with the Bride. In his own time he changes the sunshine in our souls into the gloom of night, and withdraws from us all consolation. By night upon my couch I sought him whom my soul loveth,' says the Bride; I sought him but I found him not.' It had become night with her, and she was forced to complain, 'I have lost the Lord.'

It has become night in us, in the sense intended by the Bride, when the consciousness of the blissful presence of the Lord has departed from us, and the soul no longer retains any perception of the felicity enjoyed at

his right hand. It is become night when the flow of holy feeling and emotion is dried up, and our joy in the Lord and all that is his, has expired within us. It is night when the word that we read no longer affects us, when its promises leave the soul cold and insensible ; when the sermons we hear afford no enjoyment, and the worship of God, once our most joyous employment, has become a burden; when we are no longer impelled to pour forth our souls in prayer and praise, and when the most sacred engagements do not cause the heart to overflow with holy joy and delightful emotion. Then it is become night! O deplorable state! When the spikenard of our spiritual knowledge has lost its fragrance; when the grapes on the Gospel-vine yield for us no juice, and the flowers no perfume; when our hearts are become barren, and our spiritual tongue cleaves to the roof of our mouth. Then we are full of complaint and lamentation; we are cast down and know neither counsel nor consolation; for the prop on which we had leaned was not the merit of Christ, but our own feelings; and this prop is now broken. The foundation, on which the superstructure of our hopes had been erected, was not the beam of the cross, but the loose ground of our own piety and lively sensations; we had been accustomed to look more to ourselves than to Christ; our confidence had been our love to the Lord, not his love to us. Therefore a cloud no sooner dims the bright glow of our sensations and feelings, than we find ourselves deprived of the consolations of Christ, and are forced to complain, with the Bride: We have lost the Lord.

III. We will now examine what further occurs in this state of destitution and banishment, when the luxuriant spring-time of our soul is changed into the chill of winter, and the melody within us has ceased; when the heart, once so animated, sensitive, and happy, has become a barren sand. We see it in the Bride.. When it had become night in her, she resolved: 'I will arise and seek him whom my soul loveth.' Yes, I will! I will! By this we perceive how little she knows herself. I will arise, will restore myself, will take possession of the paradise I have lost, and of my former blissful state. I will again warm and animate my heart, will again acquire my former joyfulness and my former delight in prayer and praise. Yes, what is there that she will not do? Well, let her resolve, let her strive. On the path she has entered she will make wonderfully wholesome discoveries. It is a path of sorrow, but its end is joy and peace.

'I will arise.' Whither will she go? I will go about the city, in the streets, and in the broad ways. I will seek him whom my soul loveth.' In the city? yes, in the spiritual Jerusalem; in the kingdom of God; in the congregation of the faithful; there she hopes to regain the exquisite felicity she has lost. But alas! we hear her complain, I sought but found him not.' What the Bride here confesses, have we not all here experienced? When that night overshadowed us, we also imagined we could ourselves rekindle joy in the soul, again render our barren hearts fruitful. We also could exclaim: 'I will! I will!' as if all had been within our grasp. Then we also arose, and went about the streets