1 Do me right, O God, and plead my plea against a loveless nation;
From the man of fraud and mischief rescue me.
2 For Thou art God my stronghold; why hast Thou cast me off?
Why must I wearily go mourning because of the oppression of the
enemy?
3 Send out Thy light and Thy troth; let them lead me;
Let them bring me to Thy holy hill and to Thy tabernacles,
4 That I may come in to the altar of God,
To God, the gladness of my joy,
And give Thee thanks with the harp, O God, my God.
5 Why art thou bowed down, my soul, and why moanest thou within me?
Hope in God, for I shall yet give Him thanks,
[As] the help of my countenance and my God.
The second book of the Psalter is characterised by the use of the
Divine name "Elohim" instead of "Jehovah." It begins with a cluster
of seven psalms (reckoning Psalms xlii. and xliii. as one) of which
the superscription is most probably regarded as ascribing their
authorship to "the sons of Korach." These were Levites, and (according
to 1 Chron. ix. 19 _seq._) the office of keepers of the door of the
sanctuary had been hereditary in their family from the time of Moses.
Some of them were among the faithful adherents of David at Ziklag
(1 Chron. xii. 6), and in the new model of worship inaugurated by
him the Korachites were doorkeepers and musicians. They retained the
former office in the second Temple (Neh. xi. 19). The ascription of
authorship to a group is remarkable, and has led to the suggestion
that the superscription does not specify the authors, but the persons
for whose use the psalms in question were composed. The Hebrew would
bear either meaning; but if the latter is adopted, all these psalms
are anonymous. The same construction is found in Book I. in Psalms
xxv.-xxviii., xxxv., xxxvii., where it is obviously the designation
of authorship, and it is naturally taken to have the same force
in these Korachite psalms. It has been ingeniously conjectured by
Delitzsch that the Korachite Psalms originally formed a separate
collection entitled "Songs of the Sons of Korach," and that this
title afterwards passed over into the superscriptions when they were
incorporated in the Psalter. It may have been so, but the supposition
is unnecessary. It was not exactly literary fame which psalmists
hungered for. The actual author, as one of a band of kinsmen who
worked and sang together, would, not unnaturally, be content to sink
his individuality and let his song go forth as that of the band.
Clearly the superscriptions rested upon some tradition or knowledge,
else defective information would not have been acknowledged as it is
in this one; but some name would have been coined to fill the gap.
The two psalms (xlii., xliii.) are plainly one. The absence of a title
for the second, the identity of tone throughout, the recurrence of
several phrases, and especially of the refrain, put this beyond doubt.
The separation, however, is old, since it is found in the LXX. It is
useless to speculate on its origin.
There is much in the psalms which favours the hypothesis that the
author was a Korachite companion of David's in his flight before
Absalom; but the locality, described as that of the singer, does not
entirely correspond to that of the king's retreat, and the description
of the enemies is not easily capable of application in all points to
his foes. The house of God is still standing; the poet has been there
recently, and hopes soon to return and render praise. Therefore the
psalm must be pre-exilic; and while there is no certainty attainable
as to date, it may at least be said that the circumstances of the
singer present more points of contact with those of the supposed
Korachite follower of David's fortunes on the uplands across Jordan
than with those of any other of the imaginary persons to whom modern
criticism has assigned the poem. Whoever wrote it has given immortal
form to the longings of the soul after God. He has fixed for ever and
made melodious a sigh.
The psalm falls into three parts, each closing with the same
refrain. Longings and tears, remembrances of festal hours passed in
the sanctuary melt the singer's soul, while taunting enemies hiss
continual sarcasms at him as forsaken by his God. But his truer self
silences these lamentations, and cheers the feebler "soul" with clear
notes of trust and hope, blown in the refrain, like some trumpet-clang
rallying dispirited fugitives to the fight. The stimulus serves for
a moment; but once more courage fails, and once more, at yet greater
length and with yet sadder tones, plaints and longings are wailed
forth. Once more, too, the higher self repeats its half-rebuke,
half-encouragement. So ends the first of the psalms; but obviously it
is no real ending, for the victory over fear is not won, and longing
has not become blessed. So once more the wave of emotion rolls over
the psalmist, but with a new aspect which makes all the difference.
He prays now; he had only remembered and complained and said that he
would pray before. Therefore now he triumphs, and though he still is
keenly conscious of his enemies, they appear but for a moment, and,
though he still feels that he is far from the sanctuary, his heart
goes out in hopeful visions of the gladness of his return thither,
and he already tastes the rapture of the joy that will then flood
his heart. Therefore the refrain comes for a third time; and this
time the longing, trembling soul continues at the height to which the
better self has lifted it, and silently acknowledges that it need
not have been cast down. Thus the whole song is a picture of a soul
climbing, not without backward slips, from the depths to the heights,
or, in another aspect, of the transformation of longing into certainty
of fruition, which is itself fruition after a kind.
Perhaps the singer had seen, during his exile on the eastern side of
Jordan, some gentle creature, with open mouth and heaving flanks,
eagerly seeking in dry wadies for a drop of water to cool her
outstretched tongue; and the sight had struck on his heart as an
image of himself longing for the presence of God in the sanctuary. A
similar bit of local colour is generally recognised in ver. 7. Nature
reflects the poet's moods, and overmastering emotion sees its own
analogues everywhere. That lovely metaphor has touched the common
heart as few have done, and the solitary singer's plaint has fitted
all devout lips. Injustice is done it, if it is regarded merely as
the longing of a Levite for approach to the sanctuary. No doubt the
psalmist connected communion with God and presence in the Temple more
closely together than they should do who have heard the great charter,
"neither in this mountain, nor in Jerusalem"; but, however the two
things were coupled in his mind, they were sufficiently separate to
allow of approach by longing and prayer while distant in body, and the
true object of yearning was not access to the Temple, but communion
with the God of the Temple.
The "soul" is feminine in Hebrew, and is here compared to the female
deer, for "pants" is the feminine form of the verb, though its noun is
masculine. It is better therefore to translate "hind" than "hart."
The "soul" is the seat of emotions and desires. It "pants" and
"thirsts," is "cast down" and disquieted; it is "poured out"; it can
be bidden to "hope." Thus tremulous, timid, mobile, it is beautifully
compared to a hind. The true object of its longings is always God,
however little it knows for what it is thirsting. But they are happy
in their very yearnings who are conscious of the true direction of
these, and can say that it is God for whom they are athirst. All
unrest of longing, all fever of thirst, all outgoings of desire, are
feelers put out blindly, and are only stilled when they clasp Him. The
correspondence between man's needs and their true object is involved
in that name "the living God"; for a heart can rest only in one
all-sufficient Person, and must have a heart to throb against. Neither
abstractions nor dead things can still its cravings. That which does
must be living. But no finite being can still them; and after all
sweetnesses of human loves and helps of human strengths, the soul's
thirst remains unslaked, and the Person who is enough must be the
living God. The difference between the devout and the worldly man is
just that the one can only say, "My soul pants and thirsts," and the
other can add "after Thee, O God."
This man's longing was intensified by his unwilling exile from the
sanctuary, a special privation to a door-keeper of the Temple. His
situation and mood closely resemble those in another Korachite psalm
(lxxxiv.), in which, as here, the soul "faints for the courts of the
Lord," and as here the panting hind, so there the glancing swallows
flitting about the eaves are woven into the song. Unnamed foes taunt the
psalmist with the question, "Where is thy God?" There is no necessity
to conclude that these were heathens, though the taunt is usually put
into heathen lips (Psalms lxxix. 10; lii. 2) but it would be quite as
natural from co-religionists, flouting his fervour and personal grasp of
God and taking his sorrows as tokens of God's abandonment of him. That
is the world's way with the calamities of a devout man, whose humble
cry, "My God," it resents as presumption or hypocrisy.
But even these bitter sarcasms are less bitter than the remembrance
of "happier things," which is his "sorrow's crown of sorrow." Yet,
with the strange but universal love of summoning up remembrance of
departed joys, the psalmist finds a certain pleasure in the pain of
recalling how he, a Levite, led the festal march to the Temple, and in
listening in fancy again to the shrill cries of joy which broke from
the tumultuous crowd. The form of the verbs "remember" and "pour out"
in ver. 4 indicates set purpose.
The higher self arrests this flow of self-pity and lamentation. The
feminine soul has to give account of her moods to calmer judgment, and
to be lifted and steadied by the strong spirit. The preceding verses
have given ample reason why she has been dejected, but now she is
summoned to repeat them to a judicial ear. The insufficiency of the
circumstances described to warrant the vehement emotions expressed is
implied in the summons. Feeling has to vindicate its rationality or
to suppress itself, and its grounds have often only to be stated to
the better self, to be found altogether disproportioned to the storm
they have raised. It is a very elementary but necessary lesson for the
conduct of life that emotion of all sorts, sad or glad, religious or
other, needs rigid scrutiny and firm control, sometimes stimulating
and sometimes chilling. The true counterpoise to its excess lies in
directing it to God and in making Him the object of hope and patient
waiting. Emotion varies, but God is the same. The facts on which faith
feeds abide while faith fluctuates. The secret of calm is to dwell in
that inner chamber of the secret place of the Most High, which whoso
inhabits "heareth not the loud winds when they call," and is neither
dejected nor uplifted, neither disturbed by excessive joys nor torn by
anxieties.
Ver. 5 has the refrain in a form slightly different from that of the
other two instances of its occurrence (ver. 11 and xliii. 5). But
probably the text is faulty. The shifting of the initial word of ver.
6 to the end of ver. 5, and the substitution of _My_ for _His_, bring
the three refrains into line, and avoid the harsh expression "help of
His countenance." Since no reason for the variation is discernible,
and the proposed slight change of text improves construction and
restores uniformity, it is probably to be adopted. If it is, the
second part of the psalm is also conformed to the other two in regard
to its not beginning with the Divine name.
The break in the clouds is but momentary, and the grey wrack fills the
sky once more. The second part of the psalm takes up the question of
the refrain, and first reiterates with bitter emphasis that the soul
is bowed down, and then pours out once more the stream of reasons
for dejection. But the curb has not been applied quite in vain, for
throughout the succeeding verses there is a striking alternation
of despondency and hope. Streaks of brightness flash through the
gloom. Sorrow is shot with trust. This conflict of opposite emotions
is the characteristic of the second part of the psalm, while that
of the first part is an all but unrelieved predominance of gloom,
and that of the third an all but undisputed victory of sunshine.
Naturally this transition strophe is marked by the mingling of both.
In the former part, memory was the handmaid of sorrow, and came
involuntarily, and increased the singer's pain; but in this part he
makes an effort of will to remember, and in remembrance finds an
antidote to sorrow. To recall past joys adds stings to present grief,
but to remember God brings an anodyne for the smart. The psalmist
is far from the sanctuary, but distance does not hinder thought.
This man's faith was not so dependent on externals that it could not
come close to God while distant from His temple. It had been so far
strengthened by the encouragement of the refrain that the reflux
of sadness at once rouses it to action. "My soul is cast down; ...
_therefore_ let me remember Thee." With wise resolve he finds in
dejection a reason for nestling closer to God. In reference to the
description of the psalmist's locality, Cheyne beautifully says, "The
preposition 'from' is chosen (rather than 'in') with a subtle purpose.
It suggests that the psalmist's faith will bridge over the interval
between himself and the sanctuary: 'I can send my thoughts to Thee
from the distant frontier'" (_in loc._). The region intended seems
to be "the north-eastern corner of Palestine, near the lower slopes
of Hermon" (Cheyne, _u.s._). The plural "Hermons" is probably used
in reference to the group of crests. "Mizar" is probably the name of
a hill otherwise unknown, and specifies the singer's locality more
minutely, though not helpfully to us. Many ingenious attempts have
been made to explain the name either as symbolical or as a common
noun, and not a proper name, but these need not be dealt with here.
The locality thus designated is too far north for the scene of David's
retreat before Absalom, unless we give an unusual southward extension
to the names; and this makes a difficulty in the way of accepting the
hypothesis of the author's having been in his retinue.
The twofold emotions of ver. 6 recur in vv. 7, 8, where we have
first renewed despondency and then reaction into hope. The imagery
of floods lifting up their voices, and cataracts sounding as they
fall, and breaking waves rolling over the half-drowned psalmist has
been supposed to be suggested by the scenery in which he was; but the
rushing noise of Jordan in its rocky bed seems scarcely enough to
deserve being described as "flood calling to flood," and "breakers
and rollers" is an exaggeration if applied to any commotion possible
on such a stream. The imagery is so usual that it needs no assumption
of having been occasioned by the poet's locality. The psalmist paints
his calamities as storming on him in dismal continuity, each "flood"
seeming to summon its successor. They rush upon him, multitudinous
and close following; they pour down on him as with the thunder of
descending cataracts; they overwhelm him like the breakers and
rollers of an angry ocean. The bold metaphors are more striking when
contrasted with the opposite ones of the first part. The dry and
thirsty land there and the rush of waters here mean the same thing, so
flexible is nature in a poet's hands.
Then follows a gleam of hope, like a rainbow spanning the waterfall.
With the alternation of mood already noticed as characteristic,
the singer looks forward, even from the midst of overwhelming seas
of trouble, to a future day when God will give His angel, Mercy or
Loving-kindness, charge concerning him and draw him out of many
waters. That day of extrication will surely be followed by a night
of music and of thankful prayer (for supplication is not the only
element in prayer) to Him who by His deliverance has shown Himself
to be the "God of" the rescued man's "life." The epithet answers to
that of the former part, "the living God," from which it differs
by but one additional letter. He who has life in Himself is the
Giver and Rescuer of our lives, and to Him they are to be rendered
in thankful sacrifice. Once more the contending currents meet in
vv. 9 and 10, in the former of which confidence and hope utter
themselves in the resolve to appeal to God and in the name given to
Him as "my Rock"; while another surge of despondency breaks, in the
question in which the soul interrogates God, as the better self had
interrogated her, and contrasts almost reproachfully God's apparent
forgetfulness, manifested by His delay in deliverance, with her
remembrance of Him. It is not a question asked for enlightenment's
sake, but is an exclamation of impatience, if not of rebuke. Ver.
10 repeats the enemies' taunt, which is there represented as like
crushing blows which broke the bones. And then once more above this
conflict of emotion soars the clear note of the refrain, summoning to
self-command, calmness, and unfaltering hope.
But the victory is not quite won, and therefore Psalm xliii. follows.
It is sufficiently distinct in tone to explain its separation from
the preceding, inasmuch as it is prayer throughout, and the note
of joy is dominant, even while an undertone of sadness links it
with the previous parts. The unity is vouched by the considerations
already noticed, and by the incompleteness of Psalm xlii. without
such triumphant close and of Psalm xliii. without such despondent
beginning. The prayer of vv. 1, 2, blends the two elements, which
were at war in the second part; and for the moment the darker is
the more prominent. The situation is described as in the preceding
parts. The enemy is called a "loveless nation." The word rendered
"loveless" is compounded of the negative prefix and the word which is
usually found with the meaning of "one whom God favours," or visits
with loving-kindness. It has been much disputed whether its proper
signification is active (one who shows loving-kindness) or passive
(one who receives it). But, considering that loving-kindness is in the
Psalter mainly a Divine attribute, and that, when a human excellence,
it is regarded as derived from and being the echo of experienced
Divine mercy, it is best to take the passive meaning as the principal,
though sometimes, as unmistakably here, the active is more suitable.
These loveless people are not further defined, and may either have
been Israelites or aliens. Perhaps there was one "man" of special
mischief prominent among them, but it is not safe to treat that
expression as anything but a collective. Ver. 2 looks back to xlii.
9, the former clause in each verse being practically equivalent, and
the second in xliii. being a quotation of the second in ver. 9, with a
variation in the form of the verb to suggest more vividly the picture
of weary, slow, dragging gait, fit for a man clad in mourning garb.
But the gloomier mood has shot its last bolt. Grief which finds no
fresh words is beginning to dry up. The stage of mechanical repetition
of complaints is not far from that of cessation of them. So the higher
mood conquers at last, and breaks into a burst of joyous petition,
which passes swiftly into realisation of the future joys whose coming
shines thus far off. Hope and trust hold the field. The certainty of
return to the Temple overbears the pain of absence from it, and the
vivid realisation of the gladness of worshipping again at the altar
takes the place of the vivid remembrance of former festal approach
thither. It is the prerogative of faith to make pictures drawn by
memory pale beside those painted by hope. Light and Troth--_i.e._,
Loving-kindness and Faithfulness in fulfilling promises--are like
two angels, despatched from the presence-chamber of God, to guide
with gentleness the exile's steps. That is to say, because God is
mercy and faithfulness, the return of the psalmist to the home of
his heart is sure. God being what He is, no longing soul can ever
remain unsatisfied. The actual return to the Temple is desired because
thereby new praise will be occasioned. Not mere bodily presence there,
but that joyful outpouring of triumph and gladness, is the object of
the psalmist's longing. He began with yearning after the living God.
In his sorrow he could still think of Him at intervals as the help of
his countenance and call Him "my God." He ends with naming Him "the
gladness of my joy." Whoever begins as he did will finish where he
climbed. The refrain is repeated for a third time, and is followed by
no relapse into sadness. The effort of faith should be persistent,
even if old bitternesses begin again and "break the low beginnings of
content"; for, even if the wild waters burst through the dam once and
again, they do not utterly wash it away and there remains a foundation
on which it may be built up anew. Each swing of the gymnast lifts him
higher, until he is on a level with a firm platform on which he can
spring and stand secure. Faith may have a long struggle with fear,
but it will have the last word, and that word will be "the help of my
countenance and my God."