1 How lovely are Thy dwellings,
Jehovah of Hosts!
2 My soul longs, yea, even languishes, for the courts of Jehovah,
My heart and my flesh cry out for the living God.
3 Yea, the sparrow has found a house,
And the swallow a nest for herself, where she lays her young,
Thine altars, Jehovah of Hosts.
My King and my God.
4 Blessed they that dwell in Thy house!
They will be still praising Thee, Selah.
5 Blessed the man whose strength is in Thee,
In whose heart are the ways!
6 [Who] passing through the valley of weeping make it a place of
fountains,
Yea, the early rain covers it with blessings.
7 They go from strength to strength,
Each appears before God in Zion.
8 Jehovah, God of Hosts, hear my prayer,
Give ear, O God of Jacob. Selah.
9 [Thou], our shield, behold, O God,
And look upon the face of Thine anointed.
10 For better is a day in Thy courts than a thousand,
Rather would I lie on the threshold in the house of my God,
Than dwell in the tents of wickedness.
11 For Jehovah God is sun and shield,
Grace and glory Jehovah gives,
No good does He deny to them that walk in integrity.
12 Jehovah of hosts,
Blessed the man that trusts in Thee!
The same longing for and delight in the sanctuary which found pathetic
expression in Psalms xlii., xliii., inspire this psalm. Like these,
it is ascribed in the superscription to the Korachites, whose office
of door-keepers in the Temple seems alluded to in ver. 10. To infer,
however, identity of authorship from similarity of tone is hazardous.
The differences are as obvious as the resemblances. As Cheyne well
says, "the notes of the singer of Psalms xlii., xliii., are here
transposed into a different key. It is still 'Te saluto, te suspiro,'
but no longer 'De longinquo te saluto' (to quote Hildebert)." The
longings after God and the sanctuary, in the first part of the
psalm, do not necessarily imply exile from the latter, for they may
be felt when we are nearest to Him, and are, in fact, an element in
that nearness. It is profitless to inquire what were the singer's
circumstances. He expresses the perennial emotions of devout souls,
and his words are as enduring and as universal as the aspirations
which they so perfectly express. No doubt the psalm identifies
enjoyment of God's presence with the worship of the visible sanctuary
more closely than we have to do, but the true object of its longing
is God, and so long as spirit is tied to body the most spiritual
worship will be tied to form. The psalm may serve as a warning against
premature attempts to dispense with outward aids to inward communion.
It is divided into three parts by the Selahs. The last verse of the
first part prepares the way for the first of the second, by sounding
the note of "Blessed they," etc., which is prolonged in ver. 5, The
last verse of the second part (ver. 8) similarly prepares for the
first of the third (ver. 9) by beginning the prayer which is prolonged
there. In each part there is a verse pronouncing blessing on Jehovah's
worshippers, and the variation in the designations of these gives the
key to the progress of thought in the psalm. First comes the blessing
on those who dwell in God's house (ver. 4), and that abiding is the
theme of the first part. The description of those who are thus blessed
is changed, in the second strophe, to "those in whose heart are the
[pilgrim] ways," and the joys of the progress of the soul towards God
are the theme of that strophe. Finally, for dwelling in and journeying
towards the sanctuary is substituted the plain designation of "the man
that trusts in Thee," which trust is the impulse to following after
God and the condition of dwelling with Him; and its joys are the theme
of the third part.
The man who thus interpreted his own psalm had no unworthy conception
of the relation between outward nearness to the sanctuary, and inward
communion with the God who dwelt there. The psalmist's yearning
for the Temple was occasioned by his longing for God. It was God's
presence there which gave it all its beauty. Because they were "Thy
tabernacles," he felt them to be lovely and lovable, for the word
implies both. The abrupt exclamation beginning the psalm is the
breaking into speech of thought which had long increased itself in
silence. The intensity of his desires is expressed very strikingly by
two words, of which the former (_longs_) literally means _grows pale_,
and the latter _fails_, or _is consumed_. His whole being, body and
spirit, is one cry for the living God. The word rendered "cry out" is
usually employed for the shrill cry of joy, and that meaning is by
many retained here. But the cognate noun is not infrequently employed
for any loud or high-pitched call, especially for fervent prayer
(Psalm lxxxviii. 2), and it is better to suppose that this clause
expresses emotion substantially parallel to that of the former one,
than that it makes a contrast to it. "The living God" is an expression
only found in Psalm xlii., and is one of the points of resemblance
between it and this psalm. That Name is more than a contrast with
the gods of the heathen. It lays bare the reason for the psalmist's
longings. By communion with Him who possesses life in its fulness,
and is its fountain for all that live, he will draw supplies of that
"life whereof our veins are scant." Nothing short of a real, living
Person can slake the immortal thirst of the soul, made after God's
own life, and restless till it rests in Him. The surface current
of this singer's desires ran towards the sanctuary; the depth of
them set towards God; and, for the stage of revelation at which he
stood, the deeper was best satisfied through the satisfaction of the
more superficial. The one is modified by the progress of Christian
enlightenment, but the other remains eternally the same. Alas that
the longings of Christian souls for fellowship with God should be so
tepid, as compared with the sacred passion of desire which has found
imperishable utterance in these glowing and most sincere words!
Ver. 3 has been felt to present grammatical difficulties, which need
not detain us here. The easiest explanation is that the happy, winged
creatures who have found resting-places are contrasted by the psalmist
with himself, seeking, homeless amid creation, for his haven of
repose. We have to complete the somewhat fragmentary words with some
supplement before "Thine altars," such as "So would I find," or the
like. To suppose that he represents the swallows as actually nesting
on the altar is impossible, and, if the latter clauses are taken to
describe the places where the birds housed and bred, there is nothing
to suggest the purpose for which the reference to them is introduced.
If, on the other hand, the poet looks with a poet's eye on these lower
creatures at rest in secure shelters, and longs to be like them, in
his repose in the home which his deeper wants make necessary for him,
a noble thought is expressed with adequate poetic beauty. "Foxes have
holes, and birds of the air roosting-places, but the Son of Man hath
not where to lay His head." All creatures find environment suited to
their need, and are at rest in it, man walks like a stranger on earth,
and restlessly seeks for rest. Where but in God is it to be found?
Who that seeks it in Him shall fail to find it? What their nests are
to the swallows, God is to man. The solemnity of the direct address
to God at the close of ver. 3 would be out of place if the altar were
the dwelling of the birds, but is entirely natural if the psalmist is
thinking of the Temple as the home of his spirit. By the accumulation
of sacred and dear names, and by the lovingly reiterated "my," which
claims personal relation to God, he deepens his conviction of the
blessedness which would be his, were he in that abode of his heart,
and lingeringly tells his riches, as a miser might delight to count
his gold, piece by piece.
The first part closes with an exclamation which gathers into one
all-expressive word the joy of communion with God. They who have it
are "blessed," with something more sacred and lasting than happiness,
with something deeper and more tranquil than joy, even with a calm
delight, not altogether unlike the still, yet not stagnant, rest of
supreme felicity which fills the life of the living and ever-blessed
God. That thought is prolonged by the music.
The second strophe (vv. 5-8) is knit to the first, chain-wise, by
taking up again the closing strain, "Blessed the man!" But it turns
the blessedness in another direction. Not only are they blessed who
have found their rest in God, but so also are they who are seeking it.
The goal is sweet, but scarcely less sweet are the steps towards it.
The fruition of God has delights beyond all that earth can give, but
the desire after Him, too, has delights of its own. The experiences
of the soul seeking God in His sanctuary are here cast into the image
of pilgrim bands going up to the Temple. There may be local allusions
in the details. The "ways" in ver. 5 are the pilgrims' paths to the
sanctuary. Hupfeld calls the reading "ways" senseless, and would
substitute "trust"; but such a change is unnecessary, and tasteless.
The condensed expression is not too condensed to be intelligible, and
beautifully describes the true pilgrim spirit. They who are touched
with that desire which impels men to "seek a better country, that is
an heavenly," and to take flight from Time's vanities to the bosom of
God, have ever "the ways" in their hearts. They count the moments lost
during which they linger, or are anywhere but on the road. Amid calls
of lower duties and distractions of many sorts, their desires turn to
the path to God. Like some nomads brought into city life, they are
always longing to escape. The caged eagle sits on the highest point of
his prison, and looks with filmed eye to the free heavens. Hearts that
long for God have an irrepressible instinct stinging them to ever-new
attainments. The consciousness of "not having already attained" is
no pain, when the hope of attaining is strong. Rather, the very
blessedness of life lies in the sense of present imperfection, the
effort for completeness, and the assurance of reaching it.
Ver. 6 is highly imaginative and profoundly true. If a man has "the
ways" in his heart, he will pass through "the valley of weeping,"
and turn it into a "place of fountains." His very tears will fill
the wells. Sorrow borne as a help to pilgrimage changes into joy and
refreshment. The remembrance of past grief nourishes the soul which
is aspiring to God. God puts our tears into His bottle; we lose the
benefit of them, and fail to discern their true intent, unless we
gather them into a well, which may refresh us in many a weary hour
thereafter. If we do, there will be another source of fertility,
plentifully poured out upon our life's path. "The early rain covers
it with blessings." Heaven-descended gifts will not be wanting, nor
the smiling harvests which they quicken and mature. God meets the
pilgrims' love and faith with gently falling influences, which bring
forth rich fruit. Trials borne aright bring down fresh bestowments of
power for fruitful service. Thus possessed of a charm which transforms
grief, and recipients of strength from on high, the pilgrims are
not tired by travel, as others are, but grow stronger day by day,
and their progressive increase in vigour is a pledge that they will
joyously reach their journey's end, and stand in the courts of the
Lord's house. The seekers after God are superior to the law of decay.
It may affect their physical powers, but they are borne up by an
unfulfilled and certain hope, and reinvigorated by continual supplies
from above; and therefore, though in their bodily frame they, like
other men, faint and grow weary, they shall not utterly fail, but,
waiting on Jehovah, "will renew their strength." The fabled fountain
of perpetual youth rises at the foot of God's throne, and its waters
flow to meet those who journey thither.
Such are the elements of the blessedness of those who seek God's
presence; and with that great promise of certain finding of the good
and the God whom they seek, the description and the strophe properly
ends. But just as the first part prepared the way for the second,
so the second does for the third, by breaking forth into prayer. No
wonder that the thoughts which he has been dwelling on should move the
singer to supplication that these blessednesses may be his. According
to some, ver. 8 is the prayer of the pilgrim on arriving in the
Temple, but it is best taken as the psalmist's own.
The final part begins with invocation. In ver. 9 "our shield" is in
apposition to "God," not the object to "behold." It anticipates the
designation of God in ver. 11. But why should the prayer for "Thine
anointed" break in upon the current of thought? Are we to say that
the psalmist "completes his work by some rhythmical but ill-connected
verses" (Cheyne)? There is a satisfactory explanation of the apparently
irrelevant petition, if we accept the view that the psalm, like its
kindred Psalms xlii., xliii., was the work of a companion of David's
in his flight. If so, the king's restoration would be the condition
of satisfying the psalmist's longing for the sanctuary. Any other
hypothesis as to his date and circumstances fails to supply a connecting
link between the main subject of the psalm and this petition. The "For"
at the beginning of ver. 10 favours such a view, since it gives the
delights of the house of the Lord, and the psalmist's longing to share
in them, as the reasons for his prayer that Jehovah would look upon the
face of His anointed. In that verse he glides back to the proper theme
of the psalm. Life is to be estimated, not according to its length, but
according to the richness of its contents. Time is elastic. One crowded
moment is better than a millennium of languid years. And nothing fills
life so full or stretches the hours to hold so much of real living, as
communion with God, which works, on those who have plunged into its
depths, some assimilation to the timeless life of Him with whom "one day
is as a thousand years." There may be a reference to the Korachites'
function of door-keepers, in that touchingly beautiful choice of the
psalmist's, rather to lie on the threshold of the Temple than to dwell
in the tents of wickedness. Whether there is or not, the sentiment
breathes sweet humility, and deliberate choice. Just as the poet has
declared that the briefest moment of communion is in his sight to be
preferred to years of earthly delight, so he counts the humblest office
in the sanctuary, and the lowest place there, if only it is within the
doorway, as better than aught besides. The least degree of fellowship
with God has delights superior to the greatest measure of worldly joys.
And this man, knowing that, chose accordingly. How many of us know it,
and yet cannot say with him, "Rather would I lie on the door-sill of the
Temple than sit in the chief places of the world's feasts!"
Such a choice is the only rational one. It is the choice of supreme
good, correspondent to man's deepest needs, and lasting as his being.
Therefore the psalmist vindicates his preference, and encourages
himself in it, by the thoughts in ver. 11, which he introduces with
"For." Because God is what He is, and gives what He gives, it is the
highest wisdom to take Him for our true good, and never to let Him go.
He is "sun and shield." This is the only place in which He is directly
called a sun, though the idea conveyed is common. He is "the master
light of all our seeing," the fountain of warmth, illumination, and
life. His beams are too bright for human eyes to gaze on, but their
effluence is the joy of creation. They who look to Him "shall not
walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life." What folly to
choose darkness rather than light, and, when that Sun is high in the
heavens, ready to flood our hearts with its beams, to prefer to house
ourselves in gloomy caverns of our own sad thoughts and evil doings!
Another reason for the psalmist's choice is that God is a shield.
(Compare ver. 9.) Who that knows the dangers and foes that cluster
thick round every life can wisely refuse to shelter behind that ample
and impenetrable buckler? It is madness to stand in the open field,
with arrows whizzing invisible all round, when one step, one heartfelt
desire, would place that sure defence between us and every peril. God
being such, "grace and glory" will flow from Him to those who seek
Him. These two are given simultaneously, not, as sometimes supposed,
in succession, as though grace were the sum of gifts for earth, and
glory the all-comprehending expression for the higher bestowments of
heaven. The psalmist thinks that both are possessed here. _Grace_ is
the sum of God's gifts, coming from His loving regard to His sinful
and inferior creatures. _Glory_ is the reflection of His own lustrous
perfection, which irradiates lives that are turned to Him, and makes
them shine, as a poor piece of broken pottery will, when the sunlight
falls on it. Since God is the sum of all good, to possess Him is
to possess it all. The one gift unfolds into all things lovely and
needful. It is the raw material, as it were, out of which can be
shaped, according to transient and multiform needs, everything that
can be desired or can bless a soul.
But high as is the psalmist's flight of mystic devotion, he does not
soar so far as to lose sight of plain morality, as mystics have often
been apt to do. It is the man who walks in his integrity who may hope
to receive these blessings. "Without holiness no man shall see the
Lord"; and neither access to His house nor the blessings flowing from
His presence can belong to him who is faithless to his own convictions
of duty. The pilgrim paths are paths of righteousness. The psalmist's
last word translates his metaphors of dwelling in and travelling
towards the house of Jehovah into their simple meaning, "Blessed is
the man that _trusteth_ in Thee." That trust both seeks and finds God.
There has never been but one way to His presence, and that is the way
of trust. "I am the way.... No man cometh to the Father but by Me."
So coming, we shall find, and then shall seek more eagerly and find
more fully, and thus shall possess at once the joys of fruition and of
desires always satisfied, never satiated, but continually renewed.