9_b_ The Most High thou hast made thy dwelling-place.
10 No evil shall befall thee,
And no scourge shall come near thy tent.
11 For His angels will He command concerning thee,
To keep thee in all thy ways.
12 Upon [their] hands shall they bear thee,
Lest thou strike thy foot against a stone.
13 Upon lion and adder shalt thou tread,
Thou shalt trample upon young lion and dragon.
14 "Because to Me he clings, therefore will I deliver him
I will lift him high because he knows My name.
15 He shall call on Me, and I will answer him;
With him will I, even I, be in trouble,
I will rescue him and bring him to honour.
16 [With] length of days will I satisfy him,
And give him to gaze on My salvation."
The solemn sadness of Psalm xc. is set in strong relief by the
sunny brightness of this song of happy, perfect trust in the Divine
protection. The juxtaposition is, however, probably due to the verbal
coincidence of the same expression being used in both psalms in
reference to God. In Psalm xc. 1, and in xci. 9, the somewhat unusual
designation "dwelling-place" is applied to Him, and the thought
conveyed in it runs through the whole of this psalm.
An outstanding characteristic of it is its sudden changes of persons;
"He," "I," and "thou" alternate in a bewildering fashion, which has
led to many attempts at explanation. One point is clear--that, in
vv. 14-16, God speaks, and that He speaks of, not to, the person who
loves and clings to Him. At ver. 14, then, we must suppose a change
of speaker, which is unmarked by any introductory formula. Looking
back over the remainder of the psalm, we find that the bulk of it is
addressed directly _to_ a person who must be the same as is spoken _of_
in the Divine promises. The "him" of the latter is the "thee" of the
mass of the psalm. But this mass is broken at two points by clauses
alike in meaning, and containing expressions of trust (vv. 2, 9_a_).
Obviously the unity of the psalm requires that the "I" of these two
verses should be the "thou" of the great portion of the psalm, and the
"he" of the last part. Each profession of trust will then be followed
by assurances of safety thence resulting, ver. 2 having for pendant vv.
3-8, and ver. 9_a_ being followed by vv. 9_b_-13. The two utterances of
personal faith are substantially identical, and the assurances which
succeed them are also in effect the same. It is by some supposed that
this alternation of persons is due simply to the poet expressing partly
"his own feelings as from himself, and partly as if they were uttered
by another" (Perowne after Ewald). But that is not an explanation of
the structure; it is only a statement of the structure which requires
to be explained. No doubt the poet is expressing his own feelings or
convictions all through the psalm: but why does he express them in this
singular fashion?
The explanation which is given by Delitzsch, Stier, Cheyne and many
others takes the psalm to be antiphonal, and distributes the parts
among the voices of a choir, with some variations in the allocation.
But ver. 1 still remains a difficulty. As it stands it sounds flat
and tautological, and hence attempts have been made to amend it,
which will presently be referred to. But it will fall into the
general antiphonal scheme, if it is regarded as a prelude, sung by
the same voice which twice answers the single singer with choral
assurances that reward his trust. We, then, have this distribution
of parts: ver. 1, the broad statement of the blessedness of dwelling
with God; ver. 2, a solo, the voice of a heart encouraged thereby to
exercise personal trust; vv. 3-8, answers, setting forth the security
of such a refuge; ver. 9_a_, solo, reiterating with sweet monotony
the word of trust; vv. 9_b_-13, the first voice or chorus repeating
with some variation the assurances of vv. 3-8; and vv. 14-16, God's
acceptance of the trust and confirmation of the assurances.
There is, no doubt, difficulty in ver. 1; for, if it is taken as
an independent sentence, it sounds tautological, since there is no
well-marked difference between "sitting" and "lodging," nor much
between "secret place" and "shadow." But possibly the idea of safety
is more strongly conveyed by "shadow" than by "secret place," and
the meaning of the apparently identical assertion may be, that he
who quietly enters into communion with God thereby passes into His
protection; or, as Kay puts it, "Loving faith on man's part shall be
met by faithful love on God's part." The LXX. changes the person of
"will say" in ver. 2, and connects it with ver. 1 as its subject ("He
that sits ... that lodges ... shall say"). Ewald, followed by Baethgen
and others, regards ver. 1 as referring to the "I" of ver. 2, and
translates "Sitting ... I say." Hupfeld, whom Cheyne follows, cuts the
knot by assuming that "Blessed is" has dropped out at the beginning of
ver. 1, and so gets a smooth run of construction and thought ("Happy is
he who sits ... who lodges ... who says"). It is suspiciously smooth,
obliterates the characteristic change of persons, of which the psalm
has other instances, and has no support except the thought that the
psalmist would have saved us a great deal of trouble, if he had only
been wise enough to have written so. The existing text is capable of a
meaning in accordance with his general drift. A wide declaration like
that of ver. 1 fittingly preludes the body of the song, and naturally
evokes the pathetic profession of faith which follows.
According to the accents, ver. 2 is to be read "I will say, 'To
Jehovah [belongs] my refuge,'" etc. But it is better to divide as
above. Jehovah _is_ the refuge. The psalmist speaks _to_ Him, with the
exclamation of yearning trust. He can only call Him by precious names,
to use which, in however broken a fashion, is an appeal that goes
straight to His heart, as it comes straight from the suppliant's. The
singer lovingly accumulates the Divine names in these two first verses.
He calls God "Most High," "Almighty," when he utters the general truth
of the safety of souls that enter His secret place; but, when he speaks
his own trust, he addresses Jehovah, and adds to the wide designation
"God" the little word "my," which claims personal possession of His
fulness of Deity. The solo voice does not say much, but it says enough.
There has been much underground work before that clear jet of personal
"appropriating faith" could spring into light.
We might have looked for a Selah here, if this psalm had stood in
the earlier books, but we can feel the brief pause before the choral
answer comes in vv. 3-8. It sets forth in lofty poetry the blessings
that such a trust secures. Its central idea is that of safety. That
safety is guaranteed in regard to two classes of dangers--those from
enemies, and those from diseases. Both are conceived of as divided
into secret and open perils. Ver. 3 proclaims the trustful soul's
immunity, and ver. 4 beautifully describes the Divine protection
which secures it. Vv. 5, 6, expand the general notion of safety, into
defence against secret and open foes and secret and open pestilences;
while vv. 7, 8, sum up the whole, in a vivid contrast between the
multitude of victims and the man sheltered in God, and looking out
from his refuge on the wide-rolling flood of destruction. As in
Psalm xviii. 5, Death is represented as a "fowler" into whose snares
men heedlessly flutter, unless held back by God's delivering hand.
The mention of pestilence in ver. 3 somewhat anticipates the proper
order, as the same idea recurs in its appropriate place in ver. 6.
Hence the rendering "word," which requires no consonantal change, is
adopted from the LXX. by several moderns. But that is feeble, and
the slight irregularity of a double mention of one form of peril,
which is naturally suggested by the previous reference to Death,
is not of much moment. The beautiful description of God sheltering
the trustful man beneath His pinions recalls Deut. xxxii. 11 and
Psalms xvii. 8, lxiii. 7. The mother eagle, spreading her dread wing
over her eaglets, is a wonderful symbol of the union of power and
gentleness. It would be a bold hand which would drag the fledglings
from that warm hiding-place and dare the terrors of that beak and
claws. But this pregnant verse (4) not only tells of the strong
defence which God is, but also, in a word, sets in clear light man's
way of reaching that asylum. "Thou shalt take refuge." It is the word
which is often vaguely rendered "trust," but which, if we retain its
original signification, becomes illuminative as to what that trust
is. The flight of the soul, conscious of nakedness and peril, to
the safe shelter of God's breast is a description of faith which,
in practical value, surpasses much learned dissertation. And this
verse adds yet another point to its comprehensive statements, when,
changing the figure, it calls God's _Troth_, or faithful adherence
to His promises and obligations, our "shield and target." We have
not to fly to a dumb God for shelter, or to risk anything upon a
Peradventure. He has spoken, and His word is inviolable. Therefore,
trust is possible. And between ourselves and all evil we may lift the
shield of His Troth. His faithfulness is our sure defence, and Faith
is our shield only in a secondary sense, its office being but to
grasp our true defence, and to keep us well behind that.
The assaults of enemies and the devastations of pestilence are
taken in vv. 5, 6, as types of all perils. These evils speak of a
less artificial stage of society than that in which our experience
moves, but they serve us as symbols of more complex dangers besetting
outward and inward life. "The terror of the night" seems best
understood as parallel with the "arrow that flies by day," in so far
as both refer to actual attacks by enemies. Nocturnal surprises were
favourite methods of assault in early warfare. Such an explanation
is worthier than the supposition that the psalmist means demons that
haunt the night. In ver. 6 Pestilence is personified as stalking,
shrouded in darkness, the more terrible because it strikes unseen.
Ver. 6_b_ has been understood, as by the Targum and LXX., to refer
to demons who exercise their power in noonday. But this explanation
rests upon a misreading of the word rendered "devastates." The other
translated "sickness" is only found, besides this place, in Deut.
xxxii. 24 ("destruction") and Isa. xxviii. 2 ("a destroying storm,"
lit. a storm of destruction), and in somewhat different form in Hosea
xiii. 14. It comes from a root meaning _to cut_, and seems here to
be a synonym for pestilence. Baethgen sees in "the arrow by day" the
fierce sunbeams, and in "the _heat_ (as he renders) which rages at
noonday" the poisonous simoom. The trustful man, sheltered in God,
looks on while thousands fall round him, as Israel looked from their
homes on the Passover night, and sees that there is a God that judges
and recompenses evil-doers by evil suffered.
Heartened by these great assurances, the single voice once more
declares its trust. Ver. 9_a_ is best separated from _b_, though
Hupfeld here again assumes that "thou hast said" has fallen out
between "For" and "Thou."
This second utterance of trust is almost identical with the first.
Faith has no need to vary its expression. "Thou, Jehovah, art my
refuge" is enough for it. God's mighty name and its personal possession
of all which that name means, as its own hiding-place, are its
treasures, which it does not weary of recounting. Love loves to repeat
itself. The deepest emotions, like song-birds, have but two or three
notes, which they sing over and over again all the long day through. He
that can use this singer's words of trust has a vocabulary rich enough.
The responsive assurances (vv. 9_b_-13) are, in like manner,
substantially identical with the preceding ones, but differences
may be discerned by which these are heightened in comparison with
the former. The promise of immunity is more general. Instead of
two typical forms of danger, the widest possible exemption from
all forms of it is declared in ver. 10. _No_ evil shall come
near, _no_ scourge approach, the "tent" of the man whose real and
permanent "dwelling-place" is Jehovah. There are much beauty and
significance in that contrast of the two homes in which a godly
man lives, housing, as far as his outward life is concerned, in a
transitory abode, which to-morrow may be rolled up and moved to
another camping-place in the desert, but abiding, in so far as his
true being is concerned, in God, the permanent dwelling-place through
all generations. The transitory outward life has reflected on it
some light of peaceful security from that true home. It is further
noteworthy that the second group of assurances is concerned with
active life, while the first only represented a passive condition of
safety beneath God's wing. In vv. 11, 12, His angels take the place
of protectors, and the sphere in which they protect is "in all thy
_ways_"--_i.e._, in the activities of ordinary life. The dangers
_there_ are of stumbling, whether that be construed as referring to
outward difficulties or to temptations to sin.
The perils, further specified in ver. 13, correspond to those
of the previous part in being open and secret: the lion with its
roar and leap, the adder with its stealthy glide among the herbage
and its unlooked-for bite. So, the two sets of assurances, taken
together, cover the whole ground of life, both in its moments of
hidden communion in the secret place of the Most High, and in its
times of diligent discharge of duty on life's common way. Perils
of communion and perils of work are equally real, and equally may
we be sheltered from them. God Himself spreads His wing over the
trustful man, and sends His messengers to keep him, in all the paths
appointed for him by God. The angels have no charge to take stones
out of the way. Hinderances are good for us. Smooth paths weary and
make presumptuous. Rough ones bring out our best and drive us to
look to God. But His messengers have for their task to lift us on
their palms over difficulties, not so that we shall not feel them
to be difficult, but so that we shall not strike our foot against
them. Many a man remembers the elevation and buoyancy of spirit which
strangely came to him when most pressed by work or trouble. God's
angels were bearing him up. Active life is full of open and secret
foes as well as of difficulties. He that keeps near to God will pass
unharmed through them all, and, with a foot made strong and firm by
God's own power infused into it, will be able to crush the life out
of the most formidable and the most sly assailants. "The God of peace
shall bruise Satan under your feet shortly."
Finally, God Himself speaks, and confirms and deepens the previous
assurances. That He is represented as speaking _of_, not _to_, His
servant increases the majesty of the utterance, by seeming to call
the universe to hear, and converts promises to an individual into
promises to every one who will fulfil the requisite conditions. These
are threefold.
God desires that men should cling to Him, know His name, and call
on Him. The word rendered "cling" includes more than "setting love
upon" one. It means to bind or knit oneself to anything, and so
embraces the cleaving of a fixed heart, of a "recollected" mind,
and of an obedient will. Such clinging demands effort; for every
hand relaxes its grasp, unless ever and again tightened. He who thus
clings will come to "know" God's "name," with the knowledge which is
born of experience, and is loving familiarity, not mere intellectual
apprehension. Such clinging and knowledge will find utterance in
continual converse with God, not only when needing deliverance, but
in perpetual aspiration after Him.
The promises to such an one go very deep and stretch very far. "I
will deliver him." So the previous assurance that no evil shall
come nigh him is explained and brought into correspondence with the
facts of life. Evil may be experienced. Sorrows will come. But they
will not touch the central core of the true life, and from them God
will deliver, not only by causing them to cease, but by fitting us
to bear. Clinging to Him, a man will be "drawn out of many waters,"
like Peter on the stormy lake. "I will set him on high" is more than
a parallel promise to that of deliverance. It includes that; for a
man lifted to a height is safe from the flood that sweeps through
the valley, or from the enemies that ravage the plain. But that
elevation, which comes from knowing God's name, brings more than
safety, even a life lived in a higher region than that of things
seen. "I will answer him." How can He fail to hear when they who
trust Him cry? Promises, especially for the troubled, follow, which
do not conflict with the earlier assurances, rightly understood. "I
will be with him in trouble." God's presence is the answer to His
servant's call. God comes nearer to devout and tried souls, as a
mother presses herself caressingly closer to a weeping child. So, no
man need add solitude to sadness, but may have God sitting with him,
like Job's friends, waiting to comfort him with true comfort. And His
presence delivers from, and glorifies after, trouble borne as becomes
God's friend. The bit of dull steel might complain, if it could feel,
of the pain of being polished, but the result is to make it a mirror
fit to flash back the sunlight.
"With length of days will I satisfy him" is, no doubt, a promise
belonging more especially to Old Testament times; but if we put
emphasis on "satisfy," rather than on the extended duration, it may
fairly suggest that, to the trustful soul, life is long enough,
whatever its duration, and that the guest, who has sat at God's table
here, is not unwilling to rise from it, when his time comes, being
"satisfied with favour, and full of the goodness of the Lord." The
vision of God's salvation, which is set last, seems from its position
in the series to point, however dimly, to a vision which comes after
earth's troubles and length of days. The psalmist's language implies
not a mere casual beholding, but a fixed gaze. Delitzsch renders
"revel in My salvation" (English translation). Cheyne has "feast his
eyes with." Such seeing is possession. The crown of God's promises
to the man who makes God his dwelling-place is a full, rapturous
experience of a full salvation, which follows on the troubles and
deliverances of earth, and brings a more dazzling honour and a more
perfect satisfaction.