Psalm 127:2

Verse 2. Quiet sleep is the gift of God, and it is the love of God to give quiet sleep.

Is it not our prayer that God would prevent fear, and afford refreshing sleep? and is it not God's answer when in sleep he doth sustain us? "I cried (says David) unto the Lord with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill. I laid me down and slept, for the Lord sustained me": Psalms 3:4-3 .

Is it not God's promise to vouchsafe sleep free from frights? "When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid: yea, thou shalt lie down, and thy sleep shall be sweet": Proverbs 3:24 . Hence God's servants while they are in the wilderness and woods of this world, they sleep safely, and devils as wild beasts can do them no harm. Ezekiel 34:25 . Have we through God's blessing this benefit, let us abundantly give praise and live praise unto God hereupon. Yea, large praise belongs to the Lord for quiet sleep from men of all sorts. --Philip Goodwin, in "The Mystery of Dreams", 1658.

Verse 2. So he giveth his beloved sleep. The world would give its favourites power, wealth, distinction; God gives "sleep." Could he give anything better? To give sleep when the storm is raging; to give sleep when conscience is arraying a long catalogue of sins; to give sleep when evil angels are trying to overturn our confidence in Christ; to give sleep when death is approaching, when judgment is at hand -- oh! what gift could be more suitable? what more worthy of God? or what more precious to the soul?

But we do not mean to enlarge upon the various senses which might thus be assigned to the gift. You will see for yourselves that sleep, as denoting repose and refreshment, may be regarded as symbolising "the rest which remaineth for the righteous", which is the gift of God to his chosen. "Surely he giveth his beloved sleep", may be taken as parallel to what is promised in Isaiah -- "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee." Whatever you can understand by the "peace" in the one case, you may also understand by the "sleep" in the other. But throughout the Old and New Testaments, and especially the latter, sleep, as you know, is often put for death. "He slept with his fathers" is a common expression in the Jewish Scriptures. To "sleep in Jesus" is a common way of speaking of those who die in the faith of the Redeemer.

Suppose, then, we take the "sleep" in our text as denoting death, and confine our discourse to an illustration of the passage under this one point of view. "Surely he giveth his beloved sleep." What an aspect will this confer on death -- to regard it as God's gift -- a gift which he vouchsafes to those whom he loves!

It is not "he sendeth his beloved sleep", which might be true whilst God himself remained at a distance; it is "he giveth his beloved sleep"; as though God himself brought the sleep, and laid it on the eyes of the weary Christian warrior. And if God himself have to do with the dissolution, can we not trust him that he will loosen gently the silver cord, and use all kindness and tenderness in "taking down the earthly house of this tabernacle"? I know not more comforting words than those of our text, whether for the being uttered in the sickroom of the righteous, or breathed over their graves. They might almost take the pain from disease, as they certainly do the dishonour from death. What is bestowed by God as a "gift on his beloved" will assuredly occupy his care, his watchfulness, his solicitude; and I conclude, therefore, that he is present, in some special and extraordinary sense when the righteous lie dying; ay, and that he sets his seal, and plants his guardianship where the righteous lie dead. "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" Let the saint be but constant in the profession of godliness, and his last hours shall be those in which Deity himself shall stand almost visibly at his side, and his last resting place that which he shall shadow with his wings. Sickness may be protracted and distressing; "earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust," may be plaintively breathed over the unconscious dead; but nothing in all this lengthened struggle, nothing in all this apparent defeat, can harm the righteous man -- nay, nothing can be other than for his present good and his eternal glory, seeing that death with all its accompaniments is but joy -- God's gift to his beloved. Dry your tears, ye that stand around the bed of the dying believer, the parting moment is almost at hand -- a cold damp is on the forehead -- the eye is fixed -- the pulse too feeble to be felt -- are you staggered at such a spectacle? Nay! let faith do its part! The chamber is crowded with glorious forms; angels are waiting there to take charge of the disembodied soul; a hand gentler than any human is closing those eyes; and a voice sweeter than any human is whispering -- "Surely the Lord giveth his beloved sleep." -- Henry Melvill (1798-1871), in a Sermon entitled "Death the Gift of God."

Verse 2. For so he giveth his beloved sleep. One night I could not rest, and in the wild wanderings of my thoughts I met this text, and communed with it: "So he giveth his beloved sleep." In my reverie, as I was on the border of the land of dreams, I thought I was in a castle. Around its massive walls there ran a deep moat. Watchmen paced the walls both day and night. It was a fine old fortress, bidding defiance to the foe; but I was not happy in it. I thought I lay upon a couch; but scarcely had I closed my eyes, ere a trumpet blew, "To arms! To arms!" and when the danger was overpast, I lay me down again. "To arms! To arms!" once more resounded, and again I started up. Never could I rest. I thought I had my armour on, and moved about perpetually clad in mail, rushing each hour to the castle top, aroused by some fresh alarm. At one time a foe was coming from the west; at another from the east. I thought I had a treasure somewhere down in some deep part of the castle, and all my care was to guard it. I dreaded, I feared, I trembled lest it should be taken from me. I awoke, and I thought I would not live in such a tower as that for all its grandeur. It was the castle of discontent, the castle of ambition, in which man never rests. It is ever, "To arms! To arms!" There is a foe here, or a foe there. His dear loved treasure must be guarded. Sleep never crossed the drawbridge of the castle of discontent. Then I thought I would supplement it by another reverie. I was in a cottage. It was in what poets call a beautiful and pleasant place, but I cared not for that. I had no treasure in the world; save one sparkling jewel on my breast: and I thought I put my hand on that and went to sleep, nor did I wake till morning light. That treasure was a quiet conscience and the love of God -- "the peace that passeth all understanding." I slept, because I slept in the house of content, satisfied with what I had. Go, ye overreaching misers! Go, ye grasping, ambitious men! I envy not your life of inquietude. The sleep of statesmen is often broken; the dream of the miser is always evil; the sleep of the man who loves gain is never hearty; but God "giveth", by contentment, "his beloved sleep." -- C.H.S.

Verse 2. He giveth his beloved sleep.

--Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1809-1861.

HINTS FOR PASTORS AND LAYPERSONS

Verse 2. (with Psalms 126:2 ). The labour of the law contrasted with the laughter of the gospel.

Verse 2. The bread of sorrows.

Verse 2. (last clause). -- Blessings that come to us in sleep.

Verse 2. (last clause). See "Spurgeon's Sermons", No. 12: "The Peculiar Sleep of the Beloved."