1 [I would lift] my voice to God and cry;
[I would lift] my voice to God, that He may give ear to me.
2 In the day of my straits I sought the Lord:
My hand was stretched out in the night without ceasing;
My soul refused to be comforted.
3 [When] I remember God, I must sigh;
[When] I muse, my spirit is covered [with gloom]. Selah.
4 Thou hast held open the guards of my eyes:
I am buffeted, and cannot speak.
5 I considered the days of old,
The years of ancient times.
6 I would remember my song in the night:
In my heart I would muse,--and my spirit made anxious search.
7 Will the Lord cast off for ever?
And will He continue no more to be favourable?
8 Is His loving-kindness ended for ever?
Has His promise failed for all generations?
9 Has God forgotten to be gracious?
Or has He in anger drawn in His compassions? Selah.
10 Then I said, It is my sickness;
[But I will remember] the years of the right hand of the Most
High.
11 I will celebrate the deeds of Jah;
For I will remember Thy wonders of old.
12 And I will meditate on all Thy work,
And will muse on Thy doings.
13 O God, in holiness is Thy way:
Who is a great God like God?
14 Thou, Thou art the God who doest wonders:
Thou hast made known among the peoples Thy strength.
15 Thou hast redeemed with Thine arm Thy people,
The sons of Jacob and Joseph. Selah.
16 The waters saw Thee, O God;
The waters saw Thee, they writhed in pangs:
Yea, the abysses trembled.
17 The clouds were poured out [in] water;
The skies gave [forth] a voice:
Yea, Thine arrows went to and fro.
18 The voice of Thy thunder was in [Thy] chariot wheel;
Lightnings illumined the world:
The earth trembled and shook.
19 In the sea was Thy way,
And Thy paths in great waters,
And Thy footprints were not known.
20 Thou leadest Thy people like sheep,
By the hand of Moses and Aaron.
The occasion of the profound sadness of the first part of this psalm
may be inferred from the thoughts which brighten it into hope in the
second. These were the memories of past national deliverance. It is
natural to suppose that present national disasters were the causes
of the sorrow which enveloped the psalmist's spirit and suggested
questions of despair, only saved from being blasphemous because
they were so wistful. But it by no means follows that the singer is
simply the personified nation. The piercing tone of individual grief
is too clear, especially in the introductory verses, to allow of
that hypothesis. Rather, the psalmist has taken into his heart the
troubles of his people. Public calamity has become personal pain.
What dark epoch has left its marks in this psalm remains uncertain.
If Delitzsch's contention that Habakkuk iii. is in part drawn from
it were indubitably established, the attribution of the psalm to the
times of Josiah would be plausible; but there is, at least, room for
doubt whether there has been borrowing, and if so, which is original
and which echo. The calamities of the Exile in their severity and
duration would give reasonable ground for the psalmist's doubts
whether God had not cast off His people for ever. No brief or partial
eclipse of His favour would supply adequate occasion for these.
The psalm falls into two parts, in the former of which (vv. 1-9) deepest
gloom wraps the singer's spirit, while in the latter (vv. 10-20) the
clouds break. Each of these parts falls into three strophes, usually of
three verses; but in the concluding strophe, consisting of five, Selah
stands at the end of the first and third, and is not present at the end
of the second, because it is more closely connected with the third than
with the first. In like manner the first strophe of the second part (vv.
10-12) has no Selah, but the second has (vv. 13-15); the closing strophe
(vv. 16-20) being thus parted off.
The psalmist's agitation colours his language, which fluctuates in the
first six verses between expressions of resolve or desire (vv. 1, 3,
6) and simple statement of fact (vv. 2, 4, 5). He has prayed long and
earnestly, and nothing has been laid in answer on his outstretched
palm. Therefore his cry has died down into a sigh. He fain would lift
his voice to God, but dark thoughts make him dumb for supplication,
and eloquent only in self-pitying monologue. A man must have waded
through like depths to understand this pathetic bewilderment of
spirit. They who glide smoothly over a sunlit surface of sea little
know the terrors of sinking, with choked lungs, into the abyss. A
little experience will go further than much learning in penetrating
the meaning of these moanings of lamed faith. They begin with an
elliptical phrase, which, in its fragmentary character, reveals the
psalmist's discomposure. "My voice to God" evidently needs some such
completion as is supplied above; and the form of the following verb
("cry") suggests that the supplied one should express wish or effort.
The repetition of the phrase in 1 _b_ strengthens the impression of
agitation. The last words of that clause may be a petition, "give
ear," but are probably better taken as above. The psalmist would fain
cry to God, that he may be heard. He has cried, as he goes on to
tell in calmer mood in ver. 2, and has apparently not been heard. He
describes his unintermitted supplications by a strong metaphor. The
word rendered "stretched out" is literally _poured out_ as water, and
is applied to weeping eyes (Lam. iii. 49). The Targum substitutes eye
for hand here, but that is commentary, not translation. The clause
which we render "without ceasing" is literally "and grew not stiff."
That word, too, is used of tears, and derivatives from it are found in
the passage just referred to in Lamentations ("intermission"), and in
Lam. ii. 18 ("rest"). It carries on the metaphor of a stream, the flow
of which is unchecked. The application of this metaphor to the hand
is harsh, but the meaning is plain--that all night long the psalmist
extended his hand in the attitude of prayer, as if open to receive
God's gift. His voice "rose like a fountain night and day"; but
brought no comfort to his soul; and he bewails himself, in the words
which tell of Jacob's despair when he heard that Joseph was dead. _So_
rooted and inconsolable does he think his sorrows. The thought of
God has changed its nature, as if the sun were to become a source of
darkness. When he looks up, he can only sigh; when he looks within,
his spirit is clothed or veiled--_i.e._, wrapped in melancholy.
In the next strophe of three verses (vv. 4-6) the psalmist plunges
yet deeper into gloom, and unfolds more clearly its occasion. Sorrow,
like a beast of prey, devours at night; and every sad heart knows how
eyelids, however wearied, refuse to close upon as wearied eyes, which
gaze wide opened into the blackness and see dreadful things there.
This man felt as if God's finger was pushing up his lids and forcing
him to stare out into the night. Buffeted, as if laid on an anvil and
battered with the shocks of doom, he cannot speak; he can only moan,
as he is doing. Prayer seems to be impossible. But to say, "I cannot
pray; would that I could!" is surely prayer, which will reach its
destination, though the sender knows it not. The psalmist had found no
ease in remembering God. He finds as little in remembering a brighter
past. That he should have turned to history in seeking for consolation
implies that his affliction was national in its sweep, however
intensely personal in its pressure. This retrospective meditation
on the great deeds of old is characteristic of the Asaph psalms. It
ministers in them to many moods, as memory always does. In this psalm
we have it feeding two directly opposite emotions. It may be the nurse
of bitter Despair, or of bright-eyed Hope. When the thought of God
occasions but sighs, the remembrance of His acts can only make the
present more doleful. The heavy spirit finds reasons for heaviness
in God's past and in its own. The psalmist in his sleepless vigils
remembers other wakeful times, when his song filled the night with
music and "awoke the dawn." Ver. 6 is parallel with ver. 3. The three
key-words, _remember_, _muse_, _spirit_, recur. There, musing ended
in wrapping the spirit in deeper gloom. Here, it stings that spirit
to activity in questionings, which the next strophe flings out in
vehement number and startling plainness. It is better to be pricked
to even such interrogations by affliction than to be made torpid by
it. All depends on the temper in which they are asked. If that is
right, answers which will scatter gloom are not far off.
The comparison of present national evils with former happiness naturally
suggests such questions. Obviously, the casting off spoken of in ver.
7 is that of the nation, and hence its mention confirms the view that
the psalmist is suffering under public calamities. All the questions
mean substantially one thing--has God changed? They are not, as some
questions are, the strongest mode of asserting their negative; nor are
they, like others, a more than half assertion of their affirmative;
but they are what they purport to be--the anxious interrogations of an
afflicted man, who would fain be sure that God is the same as ever,
but is staggered by the dismal contrast of Now and Then. He faces with
trembling the terrible possibilities, and, however his language may seem
to regard failure of resources or fickleness of purpose or limitations
in long-suffering as conceivable in God, his doubts are better put into
plain speech than lying diffused and darkening, like poisonous mists, in
his heart. A thought, be it good or bad, can be dealt with when it is
made articulate. Formulating vague conceptions is like cutting a channel
in a bog for the water to run. One gets it together in manageable shape,
and the soil is drained. So the end of the despondent half of the psalm
is marked by the bringing to distinct speech of the suspicions which
floated in the singer's mind and made him miserable. The Selah bids
us dwell on the questions, so as to realise their gravity and prepare
ourselves for their answer.
The second part begins in ver. 10 with an obscure and
much-commented-on verse, of which two explanations are possible,
depending mainly on the meanings of the two words "sickness" and
"years." The former word may mean "my wounding" or "my sickness." The
latter is by many commentators taken to be an infinitive verb, with
the signification _to be changed_, and by others to be a plural noun
meaning "_years_," as in ver. 6. Neglecting some minor differences,
we may say that those who understand the word to mean _being changed_
explain the whole thus: "This is my wound (misery, sorrow), that the
right hand of the Most High has changed." So the old versions, and
Hupfeld, Perowne, and Baethgen. But the use of the word in ver. 6 for
"years" creates a strong presumption that its sense is the same here.
As to the other word, its force is best seen by reference to a closely
parallel passage in Jer. x. 19--"I said, Truly this is my grief
(margin, _sickness_), and I must bear it"; where the word for _grief_,
though not the same as in the psalm, is cognate. The most probable
meaning, then, for the expression here is, "This my affliction is
sent from God, and I must bear it with resignation." Then follows an
elevating thought expressed in its simplest form like an exclamation,
"_the years_," etc.--_i.e.,_, "I will remember (comp. ver. 6) the
time when the right hand of Jehovah had the pre-eminence" (Cheyne,
_in loc._). Delitzsch leaves the ellipsis unfilled, and takes the
whole to mean that the psalmist says to himself that the affliction
allotted will only last for the time which the mighty hand of God
has determined. The rendering adopted above avoids the awkwardness
of using the same word in two different senses in the same context,
yields an appropriate meaning, especially in view of the continual
references to remembering, and begins the new strophe with a new note
of hopefulness, whereas the other renderings prolong the minor key of
the first part into the second. It is therefore to be preferred. The
revolution in feeling is abrupt. All is sunny and bright in the last
half. What makes the change? The recognition of two great truths:
first, that the calamity is laid on Israel, and on the psalmist as
a member of the nation, by God, and has not come because of that
impossible change in Him which the bitter questions had suggested;
and, second, the unchangeable eternity of God's delivering power. That
second truth comes to him as with a flash, and the broken words of
ver. 10 _b_ hail the sudden rising of the new star.
The remainder of the psalm holds fast by that thought of the great
deeds of God in the past. It is a signal example of how the same facts
remembered may depress or gladden, according to the point of view from
which they are regarded. We can elect whether memory shall nourish
despondency or gladness. Yet the alternative is not altogether a matter
of choice; for the only people to whom "remembering happier things" need
not be "a sorrow's crown of sorrow" are those who see God in the past,
and so are sure that every joy that was and is not shall yet again be,
in more thrilling and lasting form. If He shines out on us from the
east that we have left behind, His brightness will paint the western
sky towards which we travel. Beneath confidence in the perpetuity of
past blessings lies confidence in the eternity of God. The "years of the
right hand of the Most High" answer all questions as to His change of
purpose or of disposition, and supply the only firm foundation for calm
assurance of the future. Memory supplies the colours with which Hope
paints her truest pictures. "That which hath been is that which shall
be" may be the utterance of the _blasé_ man of the world, or of the
devout man who trusts in the living God, and therefore knows that
"There shall never be one lost good!
What was shall live as before."
The strophe in vv. 13-15 fixes on the one great redeeming act of the
Exodus as the pledge of future deeds of a like kind, as need requires.
The language is deeply tinged with reminiscences of Exod. xv. "In
holiness" (not "in the sanctuary"), the question "Who is so great a
God?" the epithet "Who doest wonders," all come from Exod. xv. 11.
"[Thine] arm" in the psalm recalls "By the greatness of Thine arm" in
Exodus (ver. 16), and the psalmist's "redeemed Thy people" reproduces
"the people which Thou hast redeemed" (Exod. xv. 13). The separate
mention of "sons of Joseph" can scarcely be accounted for, if the
psalm is prior to the division of the kingdoms. But the purpose of the
designation is doubtful. It may express the psalmist's protest against
the division as a breach of ancient national unity or his longings for
reunion.
The final strophe differs from the others in structure. It contains
five verses instead of three, and the verses are (with the exception
of the last) composed of three clauses each instead of two. Some
commentators have supposed that vv. 16-19 are an addition to the
original psalm, and think that they do not cohere well with the
preceding. This view denies that there is any allusion in the closing
verses to the passage of the Red Sea, and takes the whole as simply a
description of a theophany, like that in Psalm xviii. But surely the
writhing of the waters as if in pangs at the sight of God is such an
allusion. Ver. 19, too, is best understood as referring to the path
through the sea, whose waters returned and covered God's footprints
from human eyes. Unless there is such a reference in vv. 16-19, the
connection with the preceding and with ver. 20 is no doubt loose. But
that is not so much a reason for denying the right of these verses
to a place in the psalm as for recognising the reference. Why should
a mere description of a theophany, which had nothing to do with the
psalmist's theme, have been tacked on to it? No doubt, the thunders,
lightnings, and storm so grandly described here are unmentioned in
Exodus; and, quite possibly, may be simply poetic heightening of the
scene, intended to suggest how majestic was the intervention which
freed Israel. Some commentators, indeed, have claimed the picture
as giving additional facts concerning the passage of the Red Sea.
Dean Stanley, for example, has worked these points into his vivid
description; but that carries literalism too far.
The picture in the psalm is most striking. The continuous short
clauses crash and flash like the thunders and lightnings. That
energetic metaphor of the waters writhing as if panic-struck is more
violent than Western taste approves, but its emotional vigour as a
rendering of the fact is unmistakable. "Thine arrows went to and fro"
is a very imperfect transcript of the Hebrew, which suggests the
swift zigzag of the fierce flashes. In ver. 18 the last word offers
some difficulty. It literally means _a wheel_, and is apparently
best rendered as above, the thunder being poetically conceived of as
the sound of the rolling wheels of God's chariot. There are several
coincidences between vv. 16-19 of the psalm and Hab. iii. 10-15:
namely, the expression "writhed in pain," applied in Habakkuk to
the mountains; the word rendered "overflowing" (A.V.) or "tempest"
(R.V.) in Hab. v. 10, cognate with the verb in ver. 17 of the psalm,
and there rendered "poured out"; the designation of lightnings as
God's arrows. Delitzsch strongly maintains the priority of the psalm;
Hupfeld as strongly that of the prophet.
The last verse returns to the two-claused structure of the earlier part.
It comes in lovely contrast with the majestic and terrible picture
preceding, like the wonderful setting forth of the purpose of the other
theophany in Psalm xviii., which was for no higher end than to draw one
poor man from the mighty waters. All this pomp of Divine appearance,
with lightnings, thunders, a heaving earth, a shrinking sea, had for its
end the leading the people of God to their land, as a shepherd does his
flock. The image is again an echo of Exod. xv. 13. The thing intended is
not merely the passage of the Red Sea, but the whole process of guidance
begun there amid the darkness. Such a close is too abrupt to please
some commentators. But what more was needful or possible to be said, in
a retrospect of God's past acts, for the solace of a dark present? It
was more than enough to scatter fears and flash radiance into the gloom
which had wrapped the psalmist. He need search no further. He has found
what he sought; and so he hushes his song, and gazes in silence on the
all-sufficient answer which memory has brought to all his questions and
doubts. Nothing could more completely express the living, ever-present
worth of the ancient deeds of God than the "abruptness" with which this
psalm ceases rather than ends.