1 My soul, bless Jehovah,
Jehovah my God, Thou art exceeding great,
Thou hast clothed Thyself with honour and majesty;
2 Covering Thyself with light as with a garment,
Stretching out the heavens like a curtain.
3 Who lays the beams of His chambers in the waters,
Who makes clouds His chariot,
Who walks on the wings of the wind,
4 Making winds His messengers,
Flaming fire His servants.
5 He sets fast the earth upon its foundations,
[That] it should not be moved for ever and aye.
6 [With] the deep as [with] a garment Thou didst cover it,
Above the mountains stood the waters.
7 At Thy rebuke they fled,
At the voice of Thy thunder they were scared away.
8 --Up rose the mountains, down sank the valleys--
To the place which Thou hadst founded for them.
9 A bound hast Thou set [that] they should not pass over,
Nor return to cover the earth.
10 He sends forth springs into the glens,
Between the hills they take their way.
11 They give drink to every beast of the field,
The wild asses slake their thirst.
12 Above them dwell the birds of heaven,
From between the branches do they give their note.
13 He waters the mountains from His chambers,
With the fruit of Thy works the earth is satisfied.
14 He makes grass to spring for the cattle,
And the green herb for the service of men,
To bring forth bread from the earth,
15 And that wine may gladden the heart of feeble man;
To cause his face to shine with oil,
And that bread may sustain the heart of feeble man.
16 The trees of Jehovah are satisfied,
The cedars of Lebanon which He has planted,
17 Wherein the birds nest;
The stork--the cypresses are her house.
18 The high mountains are for the wild goats,
The rocks are a refuge for the conies.
19 He has made the moon for (_i.e._, to measure) seasons,
The sun knows its going down.
20 Thou appointest darkness and it is night,
Wherein all the beasts of the forest creep forth.
21 The young lions roar for their prey,
And to seek from God their meat.
22 The sun rises--they steal away,
And lay them down in their dens.
23 Forth goes man to his work
And to his labour till evening.
24 How manifold are Thy works, Jehovah!
In wisdom hast Thou made them all,
The earth is full of Thy possessions.
25 Yonder [is] the sea, great and spread on either hand,
There are creeping things without number,
Living creatures small and great.
26 There the ships go on,
[There is] that Leviathan whom Thou hast formed to sport in it.
27 All these look to Thee,
To give their food in its season.
28 Thou givest to them--they gather;
Thou openest Thy hand--they are filled [with] good.
29 Thou hidest Thy face--they are panic-struck;
Thou withdrawest their breath--they expire,
And return to their dust.
30 Thou sendest forth Thy breath--they are created,
And Thou renewest the face of the earth.
31 Let the glory of Jehovah endure for ever,
Let Jehovah rejoice in His works.
32 Who looks on the earth and it trembles,
He touches the mountains and they smoke.
33 Let me sing to Jehovah while I live,
Let me harp to my God while I have being.
34 Be my meditation sweet to Him!
I, I will rejoice in Jehovah.
35 Be sinners consumed from the earth,
And the wicked be no more!
Bless Jehovah, my soul!
Hallelujah!
Like the preceding psalm, this one begins and ends with the
psalmist's call to his soul to bless Jehovah. The inference has
been drawn that both psalms have the same author, but that is much
too large a conclusion from such a fact. The true lesson from it
is that Nature, when looked at by an eye that sees it to be full
of God, yields material for devout gratitude no less than do His
fatherly "mercies to them that fear Him." The key-note of the psalm
is struck in ver. 24, which breaks into an exclamation concerning
the manifoldness of God's works and the wisdom that has shaped
them all. The psalm is a gallery of vivid Nature-pictures, touched
with wonderful grace and sureness of hand. Clearness of vision and
sympathy with every living thing make the swift outlines inimitably
firm and lovely. The poet's mind is like a crystal mirror, in which
the Cosmos is reflected. He is true to the uniform Old Testament
point of view, and regards Nature neither from the scientific
nor æsthetic standpoint. To him it is the garment of God, the
apocalypse of a present Deity, whose sustaining energy is but the
prolongation of His creative act. All creatures depend on Him; His
continuous action is their life. He rejoices in His works. The
Creation narrative in Genesis underlies the psalm, and is in the main
followed, though not slavishly.
Ver. 1 would be normal in structure if the initial invocation were
omitted, and as ver. 35 would also be complete without it, the
suggestion that it is, in both verses, a liturgical addition is
plausible. The verse sums up the whole of the creative act in one grand
thought. In that act the invisible God has arrayed Himself in splendour
and glory, making visible these inherent attributes. That is the
deepest meaning of Creation. The Universe is the garment of God.
This general idea lays the foundation for the following picture
of the process of creation which is coloured by reminiscences of
Genesis. Here, as there, Light is the first-born of Heaven; but the
influence of the preceding thought shapes the language, and Light
is regarded as God's vesture. The Uncreated Light, who is darkness
to our eyes, arrays Himself in created light, which reveals while
it veils Him. Everywhere diffused, all-penetrating, all-gladdening,
it tells of the Presence in which all creatures live. This clause
is the poetic rendering of the work of the first creative day. The
next clause in like manner deals with that of the second. The mighty
arch of heaven is lifted and expanded over earth, as easily as a
man draws the cloth or skin sides and canopy of his circular tent
over its framework. But our roof is His floor; and, according to
Genesis, the firmament (lit. expanse) separates the waters above from
those beneath. So the psalm pictures the Divine Architect as laying
the beams of His _upper chambers_ (for so the word means) in these
waters, above the tent roof. The fluid is solid at His will, and the
most mobile becomes fixed enough to be the foundation of His royal
abode. The custom of having chambers on the roof, for privacy and
freshness, suggests the image.
In these introductory verses the poet is dealing with the grander
instances of creative power, especially as realised in the heavens.
Not till ver. 5 does he drop to earth. His first theme is God's
dominion over the elemental forces, and so he goes on to represent
the clouds as His chariot, the wind as bearing Him on its swift
pinions, and, as the parallelism requires, the winds as His
messengers, and devouring fire as His servants. The rendering of ver.
4 adopted in Hebrews from the LXX. is less relevant to the psalmist's
purpose of gathering all the forces which sweep through the wide
heavens into one company of obedient servants of God, than that
adopted above, and now generally recognised. It is to be observed
that the verbs in vv. 2-4 are participles, which express continuous
action. These creative acts were not done once for all, but are going
on still and always. Preservation is continued creation.
With ver. 6 we pass to the work of the third of the Genesis days,
and the verb is in the form which describes a historical fact. The
earth is conceived of as formed, and already moulded into mountains
and valleys, but all covered with "the deep" like a vesture--a sadly
different one from the robe of Light which He wears. That weltering
deep is bidden back to its future appointed bounds; and the process is
grandly described, as if the waters were sentient, and, panic-struck
at God's voice, took to flight. Ver. 8_a_ throws in a vivid touch,
to the disturbance of grammatical smoothness. The poet has the scene
before his eye, and as the waters flee he sees the earth emerging, the
mountains soaring, and the vales sinking, and he breaks his sentence,
as if in wonder at the lovely apparition, but returns, in ver. 8_b_,
to tell whither the fugitive waters fled--namely, to the ocean-depths.
There they are hemmed in by God's will, and, as was promised to Noah,
shall not again run wasting over a drowned world.
The picture of the emerging earth, with its variations of valleys
and mountains, remains before the psalmist's eye throughout vv. 10-18,
which describe how it is clothed and peopled. These effects are due to
the beneficent ministry of the same element, when guided and restrained
by God, which swathed the world with desolation. Water runs through
the vales, and rain falls on the mountains. Therefore the former bear
herbs and corn, vines and olives, and the latter are clothed with
trees not planted by human hand, the mighty cedars which spread their
broad shelves of steadfast green high up among the clouds. "Everything
lives whithersoever water cometh," as Easterns know. Therefore round
the drinking-places in the vales thirsty creatures gather, birds flit
and sing; up among the cedars are peaceful nests, and inaccessible
cliffs have their sure-footed inhabitants. All depend on water, and
water is God's gift. The psalmist's view of Nature is characteristic
in the direct ascription of all its processes to God. He makes the
springs flow, and sends rain on the peaks. Equally characteristic is
the absence of any expression of a sense of beauty in the sparkling
streams tinkling down the gloomy wadies, or in the rain-storms
darkening the hills, or in the green mantle of earth, or in the bright
creatures. The psalmist is thinking of use, not of beauty. And yet it
is a poet's clear and kindly eye which looks upon all, and sees the
central characteristic of each,--the eager drinking of the wild ass;
the music of the birds blending with the brawling of the stream, and
sweeter because the singers are hidden among the branches; the freshly
watered earth, "satisfied" with "the fruit of Thy works" (_i.e._, the
rain which God has sent from His "upper chambers"), the manifold gifts
which by His wondrous alchemy are produced from the ground by help of
one agency, water; the forest trees with their foliage glistening,
as if glad for the rain; the stork on her nest; the goats on the
mountains; the "conies" (for which we have no popular name) hurrying
to their holes in the cliffs. Man appears as depending, like the lower
creatures, on the fruit of the ground; but he has more varied supplies,
bread and wine and oil, and these not only satisfy material wants,
but "gladden" and "strengthen" the heart. According to some, the word
rendered "service" in ver. 14 means "tillage," a meaning which is
supported by ver. 23, where the same word is rendered "labour," and
which fits in well with the next clause of ver. 14, "to bring forth
bread from the earth," which would describe the purpose of the tillage.
His prerogative of labour is man's special differentia in creation.
It is a token of his superiority to the happy, careless creatures who
toil not nor spin. Earth does not yield him its best products without
his co-operation. There would thus be an allusion to him as the only
worker in creation, similar to that in ver. 23, and to the reference to
the "ships" in ver. 26. But probably the meaning of "service," which is
suggested by the parallelism, and does not introduce the new thought of
co-operation with Nature or God, is to be preferred. The construction
is somewhat difficult, but the rendering of vv. 14, 15, given above
seems best. The two clauses with infinitive verbs (_to bring forth_
and _to cause to shine_) are each followed by a clause in which the
construction is varied into that with a finite verb, the meaning
remaining the same; and all four clauses express the Divine purpose in
causing vegetation to spring. Then the psalmist looks up once more to
the hills. "The trees of Jehovah" are so called, not so much because
they are great, as because, unlike vines and olives, they have not been
planted or tended by man, nor belong to him. Far above the valleys,
where men and the cattle dependent on him live on earth's cultivated
bounties, the unowned woods stand and drink God's gift of rain, while
wild creatures lead free lives amid mountains and rocks.
With ver. 19 the psalmist passes to the fourth day, but thinks of
moon and sun only in relation to the alternation of day and night as
affecting creatural life on earth. The moon is named first, because
the Hebrew day began with the evening. It is the _measurer_, by whose
phases seasons (or, according to some, _festivals_) are reckoned. The
sun is a punctual servant, knowing the hour to set and duly keeping
it. "Thou appointest darkness and it is night." God wills, and His
will effects material changes. He says to His servant Night, "Come,"
and she "comes." The psalmist had peopled the vales and mountains of
his picture. Everywhere he had seen life fitted to its environment;
and night is populous too. He had outlined swift sketches of tame
and wild creatures, and now he half shows us beasts of prey stealing
through the gloom. He puts his finger on two characteristics--their
stealthy motions, and their cries which made night hideous. Even
their roar was a kind of prayer, though they knew it not; it was
God from whom they sought their food. It would not have answered
the purpose to have spoken of "all the loves, Now sleeping in those
quiet groves." The poet desired to show how there were creatures that
found possibilities of happy life in all the variety of conditions
fashioned by the creative Hand, which was thus shown to be moved by
Wisdom and Love. The sunrise sends these nocturnal animals back to
their dens, and the world is ready for man. "The sun looked over the
mountain's rim," and the beasts of prey slunk to their lairs, and
man's day of toil began--the mark of his pre-eminence, God's gift for
his good, by which he uses creation for its highest end and fulfils
God's purpose. Grateful is the evening rest when the day has been
filled with strenuous toil.
The picture of earth and its inhabitants is now complete, and the
dominant thought which it leaves on the psalmist's heart is cast into
the exultant and wondering exclamation of ver. 24. The variety as well
as multitude of the forms in which God's creative idea is embodied,
the Wisdom which shapes all, His ownership of all, are the impressions
made by the devout contemplation of Nature. The scientist and the
artist are left free to pursue their respective lines of investigation
and impression; but scientist and artist must rise to the psalmist's
point of view, if they are to learn the deepest lesson from the ordered
kingdoms of Nature and from the beauty which floods the world.
With the exclamation in ver. 24 the psalmist has finished his
picture of the earth, which he had seen as if emerging from the
abyss, and watched as it was gradually clothed with fertility and
peopled with happy life. He turns, in vv. 25, 26, to the other half
of his Vision of Creation, and portrays the gathered and curbed
waters which he now calls the "sea." As always in Scripture, it
is described as it looks to a landsman, gazing out on it from the
safe shore. The characteristics specified betray unfamiliarity with
maritime pursuits. The far-stretching roll of the waters away out to
the horizon, the mystery veiling the strange lives swarming in its
depths, the extreme contrasts in the magnitude of its inhabitants,
strike the poet. He sees "the stately ships go on." The introduction
of these into the picture is unexpected. We should have looked for
an instance of the "small" creatures, to pair off with the "great"
one, Leviathan, in the next words. "A modern poet," says Cheyne, _in
loc._, "would have joined the mighty whale to the fairy nautilus." It
has been suggested that "ship" here is a name for the nautilus, which
is common in the Eastern Mediterranean. The suggestion is a tempting
one, as fitting in more smoothly with the antithesis of _small_ and
_great_ in the previous clause. But, in the absence of any proof that
the word has any other meaning than "ship," the suggestion cannot be
taken as more than a probable conjecture. The introduction of "ships"
into the picture is quite in harmony with the allusions to man's
works in the former parts of the psalm, such as ver. 23, and possibly
ver. 14. The psalmist seems to intend to insert such reference to
man, the only toiler, in all his pictures. "Leviathan" is probably
here the whale. Ewald, Hitzig, Baethgen, Kay, and Cheyne follow the
LXX. and Vulgate in reading "Leviathan whom Thou hast formed to sport
with him," and take the words to refer to Job xli. 5. The thought
would then be that God's power can control the mightiest creatures'
plunges; but "the two preceding 'there's are in favour of the usual
interpretation, 'therein'" (Hupfeld), and consequently of taking the
"sporting" to be that of the unwieldy gambols of the sea-monster.
Verses 27-30 mass all creatures of earth and sea, including man,
as alike dependent on God for sustenance and for life. Dumbly these
look expectant to Him, though man only knows to whom all living eyes
are directed. The swift clauses in vv. 28-30, without connecting
particles, vividly represent the Divine acts as immediately followed
by the creatural consequences. To this psalmist the links in the
chain were of little consequence. His thoughts were fixed on its two
ends--the Hand that sent its power thrilling through the links, and
the result realised in the creature's life. All natural phenomena
are issues of God's present will. Preservation is as much His act,
as inexplicable without Him, as creation. There would be nothing to
"gather" unless He "gave." All sorts of supplies, which make the
"good" of physical life, are in His hand, whether they be the food
of the wild asses by the streams, or of the conies among the cliffs,
or of the young lions in the night, or of Leviathan tumbling amidst
the waves, or of toiling man. Nor is it only the nourishment of life
which comes straight from God to all, but life itself depends on His
continual inbreathing. His face is creation's light; breath from Him
is its life. The withdrawal of it is death. Every change in creatural
condition is wrought by Him. He is the only Fountain of Life, and the
reservoir of all the forces that minister to life or to inanimate
being. But the psalmist will not end his contemplations with the
thought of the fair creation returning to nothingness. Therefore
he adds another verse (30); which tells of "life re-orient out of
dust." Individuals pass; the type remains. New generations spring.
The yearly miracle of Spring brings greenness over the snow-covered
or brown pastures and green shoots from stiffened boughs. Many of
last year's birds are dead, but there are nests in the cypresses,
and twitterings among the branches in the wadies. Life, not death,
prevails in God's world.
So the psalmist gathers all up into a burst of praise. He desires
that the glory of God, which accrues to Him from His works, may ever
be rendered through devout recognition of Him as working them all
by man, the only creature who can be the spokesman of creation. He
further desires that, as God at first saw that all was "very good,"
He may ever continue thus to rejoice in His works, or, in other
words, that these may fulfil His purpose. Possibly His rejoicing in
His works is regarded as following upon man's giving glory to Him for
them. That rejoicing, which is the manifestation both of His love and
of His satisfaction, is all the more desired, because, if His works
do _not_ please Him, there lies in Him a dread abyss of destructive
power, which could sweep them into nothingness. Superficial readers
may feel that the tone of ver. 32 strikes a discord, but it is a
discord which can be resolved into deeper harmony. One frown from
God, and the solid earth trembles, as conscious to its depths of His
displeasure. One touch of the hand that is filled with good, and the
mountains smoke. Creation perishes if He is displeased. Well then may
the psalmist pray that He may for ever rejoice in His works, and make
them live by His smile.
Very beautifully and profoundly does the psalmist ask, in vv. 33,
34, that some echo of the Divine joy may gladden his own heart, and
that his praise may be coeval with God's glory and his own life. This
is the Divine purpose in creation--that God may rejoice in it and
chiefly in man its crown, and that man may rejoice in Him. Such sweet
commerce is possible between heaven and earth; and they have learned
the lesson of creative power and love aright who by it have been
led to share in the joy of God. The psalm has been shaped in part
by reminiscences of the creative days of creation. It ends with the
Divine Sabbath, and with the prayer, which is also a hope, that man
may enter into God's rest.
But there is one discordant note in creation's full-toned hymn, "the
fair music that all creatures made." There are sinners on earth; and
the last prayer of the psalmist is that that blot may be removed, and
so nothing may mar the realisation of God's ideal, nor be left to
lessen the completeness of His delight in His work. And so the psalm
ends, as it began, with the singer's call to his own soul to bless
Jehovah.
This is the first psalm which closes with Hallelujah (Praise Jehovah).
It is appended to the two following psalms, which close Book IV., and
is again found in Book V., in Psalms cxi.-cxiii., cxv.-cxvii., and in
the final group, Psalms cxlvi.-cl. It is probably a liturgical addition.