Paradoxes abound in Christian experience, and here is one—the bride was asleep, and yet she was awake. Only those who have plowed with the heifer of experience can read this believer's riddle. Tonight's text shows us two things: a mournful sleepiness and a hopeful wakefulness.

"I sleep." Through sin that dwells in us, we become lax in holy duties. Slothful in spiritual exercises. Dull in spiritual joys. Altogether careless and indifferent. This is a shameful state for one in whom the quickening Spirit dwells—and dangerous to the highest degree! Even wise virgins sometimes slumber, but it is high time to shake off the bands of sloth.

I fear that many believers lose their strength as Samson lost his locks, sleeping on the lap of carnal security. With a perishing world around us, to sleep is cruel. With eternity so near at hand, it is madness. Yet none of us are as awake as we should be. A few thunderclaps would do us all good—and mark my words, unless we soon bestir ourselves, we shall have them in the form of war, or pestilence, or personal bereavements and losses.

Oh, that we would leave forever the couch of fleshly ease! That we would go forth with flaming torches to meet the coming Bridegroom!

"My heart waketh." This is a happy sign. Life is not extinct, though sadly smothered. When our renewed heart struggles against our natural heaviness, we should be grateful to sovereign grace for keeping a little vitality within the body of this death. Jesus will hear our hearts, will help our hearts, will visit our hearts—for the voice of the wakeful heart is really the voice of our Beloved, saying, "Open to me."

Holy zeal will surely unbar the door.

"Oh lovely attitude! He stands With melting heart and laden hands; My soul forsakes her every sin And lets the heavenly stranger in."