Graces unexercised are as sweet perfumes slumbering in the cups of the flowers: the wisdom of the great Husbandman overrules diverse and opposite causes to produce the one desired result, and makes both affliction and consolation draw forth the grateful odours of faith, love, patience, hope, resignation, joy, and the other fair flowers of the garden. O that our heart were crushed to atoms if only by such bruising our sweet Lord Jesus could be glorified.
Well may we court trial or even death itself if we shall thereby be aided to make glad Immanuel's heart. Can it be? It seems far too good to be true. How cheering a thought that Jesus can find comfort in our poor feeble graces. She cannot endure to be unprofitable, nor can we. She desires either one or the other, or both so that she may but be able to delight her Beloved with the spices of her garden. Did not the spouse in this verse humbly submit herself to the reproofs of her Beloved only entreating him to send forth his grace in some form, and making no stipulation as to the peculiar manner in which it should come? Did she not, like ourselves, become so utterly weary of deadness and unholy calm that she sighed for any visitation which would brace her to action? Yet she desires the warm south wind of comfort, too, the smiles of divine love, the joy of the Redeemer's presence these are often mightily effectual to arouse our sluggish life. So long as it cannot be said, "The Lord was not in the wind," we will not shrink from the most wintry blast that ever blew upon plants of grace. Our souls may wisely desire the north wind of trouble if that alone can be sanctified to the drawing forth of the perfume of our graces. Anything is better than the dead calm of indifference.
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