Whatever others think of the Bride of Christ,
she is amiable and beautiful in His eyes because of the comeliness of grace which He has put upon her.
All the beauty of saints is derived from Him.
Song of Solomon 4
1 Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.
2 Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them.
3 Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks.
4 Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men.
5 Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.
6 Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense.
7 Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.
8 ¶ Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, with me from Lebanon: look from the top of Amana, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, from the lions’ dens, from the mountains of the leopards.
9 Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.
10 How fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse! how much better is thy love than wine! and the smell of thine ointments than all spices!
11 Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.
12 A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.
13 Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits; camphire, with spikenard,
14 Spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices:
15 A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon.
16 ¶ Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.
Song of Solomon 4:1-5 – J. Vernon McGee
Song of Solomon 4:6-16 – J. Vernon McGee
The representations here made of the beauty of the Church, do not represent external beauty but the beauty of holiness, the hidden man of the heart as seen by heaven through the blood of Christ.
Find the missing words then click and drag the letters in the grid below. Click “Start“
1 Behold, thou art fair, my ________; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ ________ within thy __________: thy ________ is as a __________ of __________, that ____________ from __________ Gilead.
7 Thou art all ________, my love; there is no ________ in thee.
Song of Solomon 4:16—Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden.
The garden of the heart is like one of those old-fashioned gardens, surrounded by high brick walls, prepared for fruit-trees. I have one in my eye as I write, on the south wall of which old apple-trees have bloomed and fruited for generations. The garden is filled with all manner of spices, “spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense.” Sometimes, however, the spices hang heavily upon the air. They are present, but hardly discernible to the quickest sense. Then the wind is needed to blow through the garden path, that the spices may flow out and pass beyond the barriers to the passers-by.
How often it has happened in the history of the children of God, that those who have known them have never realized the intrinsic excellence and loveliness of their characters until the north wind of sorrow and pain has broken with blustering force upon them Then suddenly spices of rarest odour have exhaled and been carried afar. How the delicate trees dread the north wind! What a tremor goes through the crowded garden walks when they hear the husbandman calling to the north wind to awake! We all choose the south wind. But remember that the Euroclydon that swept down the ravines of Crete upon the Alexandrian corn-ship brought out spices which had slumbered unknown in the heart of the great apostle. His courage! His patience! His power of inspiring hope amid despair, and breaking bread with thanksgiving! Ah, north wind, thy ministry has been of incalculable worth to all of us. We shiver before thy searching power, but the spices will repay. A vane in Leicestershire is inscribed with God Is Love. He is so, from whatever quarter the wind blows. —Our Daily Homily