Song of Solomon

As I was reading the Song of Solomon, the words and actions of the Shulammite girl reminded me of the Psalms. She remembers the previous times that she and her Beloved were together, she remembers his past acts. She dreams about him. She looks forward to the time when they will be together always, and know each other in a more intimate, stronger way. When they are apart, she seeks after him. She searches for him. She continually sings his praises. She reminds me much of the Psalmist.

"I remember the days of old;
I meditate on all that you have
done;
I ponder the work of your hands.
I stretch out my hands to you;
my soul thirst for you like a
parched land. Psalm 143:4-6

Unlike the Psalms we hear the personal response from the Beloved in a more direct way. He see's her as more beautiful than all others. He tells us how wonderful and perfect she is. And like the Shulammite girl, he wants to be with her as much as she wants to be with him. Think about that, God wants to be with you as much as you want to be with Him! I urge everyone to read the Song of Solomon and remember anew God's great love.

Ride On

Ride on! ride on in majesty! Hark! all the tribes hosanna cry; O Savior meek, pursue thy road with palms and scattered garments strowed.

Ride on! ride on in majesty! In lowly pomp ride on to die; O Christ, thy triumphs now begin o’er captive death and conquered sin.

Ride on! ride on in majesty! The angel-squadrons of the sky look down with sad and wondering eyes to see the approaching sacrifice.

Ride on! ride on in majesty! Thy last and fiercest strife is nigh; the Father on his sapphire throne expects his own anointed Son.

Ride on! ride on in majesty! In lowly pomp ride on to die; bow thy meek head to mortal pain, then take, O God, thy power, and reign.

Henry Hart Milman 1791-1868

"HENRY HART MILMAN." Wikipedia

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Hart_Milman

The Offering

They gave to thee
Myrrh, frankincense and gold
But, Lord with what shall we
Present ourselves before thy majesty,
Whom thou redeemedst when we were sold?
We've nothing but ourselves, and scarce that neither,
Vile dirt and clay;
Yet it is soft and may
Impression take.
Accept it, Lord, and say, this thou hadst rather;
Stamp it, and on this sordid metal make
The beauty of the golden mine.


Jeremy Taylor
1613-67