The soul may be as sick as it will, without rebuke, when it is sick to be with Jesus. You may indulge this carry it to its utmost extent without either sin or folly. What am I sick with love for? For the pearly gates?—No; but for the pearls that are in his wounds. What am I sick for? For the streets of gold?—No; but for his head which is as much fine gold. For the melody of the harps and angelic songs?—No, but for the melodious notes that come from his dear mouth. What am I sick for? For the nectar that angels drink?—No; but for the kisses of his lips. For the manna on which heavenly souls do feed?—No; but for himself, who is the meat and drink of his saints himself, himself—my soul pines to see him. Oh, what a heaven to gaze upon! What bliss to talk with the man, the God, crucified for me; to weep my heart out before him; to tell him how I love him, for he loved me and gave himself for me; to read my name written on his hands and on his side—yea, and to let him see that his name is written on my heart in indelible lines; to embrace him, oh! what an embrace when the creature shall embrace his God—to be for ever so close to him, that not a doubt, nor a fear, nor a wandering thought can come between my soul and him for ever—
"For ever to behold him shine,
For evermore to call him mine,
And see him still before me;
For ever on his face to gaze,
And meet his full assembled rays,
While all the Father he displays
To all the saints in glory."
What else can there be that our spirit longeth for? This seems an empty thing to worldlings, but to the Christian this is heaven summed up in a word—"To be with Christ, which is far better" than all the joys of earth. This is the object, then, of this love-sickness.
Charles Spurgeon, Heavenly Love-Sickness
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