_THE STORY OF A SORROWFUL SOUL_
PSALM iii.
This tearful little psalm tells me where a sorrowful soul found a place of
help and consolation. He resorted to God.
"_Thou art a shield about me._" He got the Lord between him and his
circumstances. There is nothing else subtle enough to interpose. Our
hurtful circumstances are so invasive and so immediate that only God can
come between us and them. But when God gets in between we are immune.
"Though an host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear."
"_Thou art my glory._" And that is an honour that need never be stained.
My worldly glory can be besmirched. An evil man throws mud, and my poor
reputation is gone. "There's always somebody ready to believe it!" But my
glory with God, and in God--man's mud cannot touch that fair fame! Even
Absalom cannot defile that resplendent robe.
"_Thou art the lifter-up of my head._" The flower is "looking up" again!
In the Lord's presence we recover our lost spirits. "He restoreth my
soul." "And now shall mine head be lifted up above mine enemies round
about me."