David's first years at the court of Saul in Gibeah do not appear to have
produced any psalms which still survive.
"The sweetest songs are those
Which tell of saddest thought."
It was natural, then, that a period full of novelty and of prosperous
activity, very unlike the quiet days at Bethlehem, should rather
accumulate materials for future use than be fruitful in actual
production. The old life shut to behind him for ever, like some
enchanted door in a hill-side, and an unexplored land lay beckoning
before. The new was widening his experience, but it had to be mastered,
to be assimilated by meditation before it became vocal.
The bare facts of this section are familiar and soon told. There is
first a period in which he is trusted by Saul, who sets him in high
command, with the approbation not only of the people, but even of the
official classes. But a new dynasty resting on military pre-eminence
cannot afford to let a successful soldier stand on the steps of the
throne; and the shrill chant of the women out of all the cities of
Israel, which even in Saul's hearing answered the praises of his prowess
with a louder acclaim for David's victories, startled the king for the
first time with a revelation of the national feeling. His unslumbering
suspicion "eyed David from that day." Rage and terror threw him again
into the gripe of his evil spirit, and in his paroxysm he flings his
heavy spear, the symbol of his royalty, at the lithe harper, with fierce
vows of murder. The failure of his attempt to kill David seems to have
aggravated his dread of him as bearing a charm which won all hearts and
averted all dangers. A second stage is marked not only by Saul's growing
fear, but by David's new position. He is removed from court, and put in
a subordinate command, which only extends his popularity, and brings him
into more immediate contact with the mass of the people. "All Israel and
Judah loved David, because he went out and came in before them." Then
follows the offer of Saul's elder daughter in marriage, in the hope that
by playing upon his gratitude and his religious feeling, he might be
urged to some piece of rash bravery that would end him without scandal.
Some new caprice of Saul's, however, leads him to insult David by
breaking his pledge at the last moment, and giving the promised bride to
another. Jonathan's heart was not the only one in Saul's household that
yielded to his spell. The younger Michal had been cherishing his image
in secret, and now tells her love. Her father returns to his original
purpose, with the strange mixture of tenacity and capricious
changefulness that marks his character, and again attempts, by demanding
a grotesquely savage dowry, to secure David's destruction. But that
scheme, too, fails; and he becomes a member of the royal house.
This third stage is marked by Saul's deepening panic hatred, which has
now become a fixed idea. All his attempts have only strengthened David's
position, and he looks on his irresistible advance with a nameless awe.
He calls, with a madman's folly, on Jonathan and on all his servants to
kill him; and then, when his son appeals to him, his old better nature
comes over him, and with a great oath he vows that David shall not be
slain. For a short time David returns to Gibeah, and resumes his former
relations with Saul, but a new victory over the Philistines rouses the
slumbering jealousy. Again the "evil spirit" is upon him, and the great
javelin is flung with blind fury, and sticks quivering in the wall. It
is night, and David flies to his house. A stealthy band of assassins
from the palace surround the house with orders to prevent all egress,
and, by what may be either the strange whim of a madman, or the cynical
shamelessness of a tyrant, to slay him in the open daylight. Michal,
who, though in after time she showed a strain of her father's proud
godlessness, and an utter incapacity of understanding the noblest parts
of her husband's character, seems to have been a true wife in these
early days, discovers, perhaps with a woman's quick eye sharpened by
love, the crouching murderers, and with rapid promptitude urges
immediate flight. Her hands let him down from the window--the house
being probably on the wall. Her ready wit dresses up one of those
mysterious teraphim (which appear to have had some connection with
idolatry or magic, and which are strange pieces of furniture for
David's house), and lays it in the bed to deceive the messengers, and so
gain a little more time before pursuit began. "So David fled and
escaped, and came to Samuel to Ramah," and thus ended his life at court.
Glancing over this narrative, one or two points come prominently forth.
The worth of these events to David must have lain chiefly in the
abundant additions made to his experience of life, which ripened his
nature, and developed new powers. The meditative life of the sheepfold
is followed by the crowded court and camp. Strenuous work, familiarity
with men, constant vicissitude, take the place of placid thought, of
calm seclusion, of tranquil days that knew no changes but the
alternation of sun and stars, storm and brightness, green pastures and
dusty paths. He learned the real world, with its hate and effort, its
hollow fame and its whispering calumnies. Many illusions no doubt faded,
but the light that had shone in his solitude still burned before him for
his guide, and a deeper trust in his Shepherd God was rooted in his soul
by all the shocks of varying fortune. The passage from the visions of
youth and the solitary resolves of early and uninterrupted piety to the
naked realities of a wicked world, and the stern self-control of manly
godliness, is ever painful and perilous. Thank God! it may be made clear
gain, as it was by this young hero psalmist.
David's calm indifference to outward circumstances affecting himself, is
very strikingly expressed in his conduct. Partly from his poetic
temperament, partly from his sweet natural unselfishness, and chiefly
from his living trust in God, he accepts whatever happens with
equanimity, and makes no effort to alter it. He originates nothing.
Prosperity comes unsought, and dangers unfeared. He does not ask for
Jonathan's love, or the people's favour, or the women's songs, or Saul's
daughter. If Saul gives him command he takes it, and does his work. If
Saul flings his javelin at him, he simply springs aside and lets it
whizz past. If his high position is taken from him, he is quite content
with a lower. If a royal alliance is offered, he accepts it; if it is
withdrawn, he is not ruffled; if renewed, he is still willing. If a busy
web of intrigue is woven round him, he takes no notice. If
reconciliation is proposed, he cheerfully goes back to the palace. If
his life is threatened he goes home. He will not stir to escape but for
the urgency of his wife. So well had he already begun to learn the
worthlessness of life's trifles. So thoroughly does he practice his own
precept, "Fret not thyself because of evil-doers;" "rest in the Lord,
and wait patiently for Him." (Psa. xxxvii. 1, 7.)
This section gives also a remarkable impression of the irresistible
growth of his popularity and influence. The silent energy of the Divine
purpose presses his fortunes onward with a motion slow and inevitable as
that of a glacier. The steadfast flow circles unchecked round, or rises
victorious over all hindrances. Efforts to ruin, to degrade, to
kill--one and all fail. Terror and hate, suspicion and jealousy, only
bring him nearer the goal. A clause which comes in thrice in the course
of one chapter, expresses this fated advance. In the first stage of his
court life, we read, "David prospered" (1 Sam. xviii. 5, margin), and
again with increased emphasis it is told as the result of the efforts to
crush him, that, "He prospered in all his ways, and the Lord was with
him" (verse 14), and yet again, in spite of Saul's having "become his
enemy continually," he "prospered more than all the servants of Saul"
(verse 30). He moves onward as stars in their courses move, obeying the
equable impulse of the calm and conquering will of God.
The familiar Scripture antithesis, which naturally finds its clearest
utterance in the words of the last inspired writer--namely, the eternal
opposition of Light and Darkness, Love and Hate, Life and Death, is
brought into sharpest relief by the juxtaposition and contrast of David
and Saul. This is the key to the story. The two men are not more unlike
in person than in spirit. We think of the one with his ruddy beauty and
changeful eyes, and lithe slight form, and of the other gaunt and black,
his giant strength weakened, and his "goodly" face scarred with the
lightnings of his passions--and as they look so they are. The one full
of joyous energy, the other devoured by gloom; the one going in and out
among the people and winning universal love, the other sitting moody and
self-absorbed behind his palace walls; the one bringing sweet clear
tones of trustful praise from his harp, the other shaking his huge spear
in his madness; the one ready for action and prosperous in it all, the
other paralyzed, shrinking from all work, and leaving the conduct of
the war to the servant whom he feared; the one conscious of the Divine
presence making him strong and calm, the other writhing in the gripe of
his evil spirit, and either foaming in fury, or stiffened into torpor;
the one steadily growing in power and favour with God and man, the other
sinking in deeper mire, and wrapped about with thickening mists as he
moves to his doom. The tragic pathos of these two lives in their fateful
antagonism is the embodiment of that awful alternative of life and
death, blessing and cursing, which it was the very aim of Judaism to
stamp ineffaceably on the conscience.
David's flight begins a period to which a large number of his psalms are
referred. We may call them "The Songs of the Outlaw." The titles in the
psalter connect several with specific events during his persecution by
Saul, and besides these, there are others which have marked
characteristics in common, and may therefore be regarded as belonging to
the same time. The bulk of the former class are found in the second book
of the psalter (Ps. xlii.-lxxii.), which has been arranged with some
care. There are first eight Korahite psalms, and one of Asaph's; then a
group of fifteen Davidic (li.-lxv.), followed by two anonymous; then
three more of David's (lxviii.-lxx.), followed by one anonymous and the
well-known prayer "for Solomon." Now it is worth notice that the group
of fifteen psalms ascribed to David is as nearly as possible divided in
halves, eight having inscriptions which give a specific date of
composition, and seven having no such detail. There has also been some
attempt at arranging the psalms of these two classes alternately, but
that has not been accurately carried out. These facts show that the
titles are at all events as old as the compilation of the second book of
the psalter, and were regarded as accurate then. Several points about
the complete book of psalms as we have it, seem to indicate that these
two first books were an older nucleus, which was in existence long prior
to the present collection--and if so, the date of the titles must be
carried back a very long way indeed, and with a proportionate increase
of authority.
Of the eight psalms in the second book having titles with specific
dates, five (Ps. lii., liv., lvi., lvii., lix.) are assigned to the
period of the Sauline persecution, and, as it would appear, with
accuracy. There is a general similarity of tone in them all, as well as
considerable parallelisms of expression, favourite phrases and
metaphors, which are favourable to the hypothesis of a nearly
cotemporaneous date. They are all in what, to use a phrase from another
art, we may call David's earlier manner. For instance, in all the
psalmist is surrounded by enemies. They would "swallow him up" (lvi. 1,
2; lvii. 3). They "oppress" him (liv. 3; lvi. 1). One of their weapons
is calumny, which seems from the frequent references to have much moved
the psalmist. Their tongues are razors (lii. 2), or swords (lvii. 4;
lix. 7; lxiv. 3). They seem to him like crouching beasts ready to spring
upon harmless prey (lvi. 6; lvii. 6; lix. 3); they are "lions" (lvii.
4), dogs (lix. 6, 14). He is conscious of nothing which he has done to
provoke this storm of hatred (lix. 3; lxiv. 4.) The "strength" of God is
his hope (liv. 1; lix. 9, 17). He is sure that retribution will fall
upon the enemies (lii. 5; liv. 5; lvi. 7; lvii. 6; lix. 8-15; lxiv. 7,
8). He vows and knows that psalms of deliverance will yet succeed these
plaintive cries (lii. 9; liv. 7; lvi. 12; lvii. 7-11; lix. 16, 17).
We also find a considerable number of psalms in the first book of the
psalter which present the same features, and may therefore probably be
classed with these as belonging to the time of his exile. Such for
instance are the seventh and thirty-fourth, which have both inscriptions
referring them to this period, with others which we shall have to
consider presently. The imagery of the preceding group reappears in
them. His enemies are lions (vii. 2; xvii. 12; xxii. 13; xxxv. 17); dogs
(xxii. 16); bulls (xxii. 12). Pitfalls and snares are in his path (vii.
15; xxxi. 4; xxxv. 7). He passionately protests his innocence, and the
kindliness of his heart to his wanton foes (vii. 3-5; xvii. 3, 4); whom
he has helped and sorrowed over in their sickness (xxxv. 13, 14)--a
reference, perhaps, to his solacing Saul in his paroxysms with the music
of his harp. He dwells on retribution with vehemence (vii. 11-16; xi.
5-7; xxxi. 23; xxxv. 8), and on his own deliverance with confidence.
These general characteristics accurately correspond with the
circumstances of David during the years of his wanderings. The scenery
and life of the desert colours the metaphors which describe his enemies
as wild beasts; himself as a poor hunted creature amongst pits and
snares; or as a timid bird flying to the safe crags, and God as his
Rock. Their strong assertions of innocence accord with the historical
indications of Saul's gratuitous hatred, and appear to distinguish the
psalms of this period from those of Absalom's revolt, in which the
remembrance of his great sin was too deep to permit of any such claims.
In like manner the prophecies of the enemies' destruction are too
triumphant to suit that later time of exile, when the father's heart
yearned with misplaced tenderness over his worthless son, and nearly
broke with unkingly sorrow for the rebel's death. Their confidence in
God, too, has in it a ring of joyousness in peril which corresponds with
the buoyant faith that went with him through all the desperate
adventures and hairbreadth escapes of the Sauline persecution. If then
we may, with some confidence, read these psalms in connection with that
period, what a noble portraiture of a brave, devout soul looks out upon
us from them. We see him in the first flush of his manhood--somewhere
about five-and-twenty years old--fronting perils of which he is fully
conscious, with calm strength and an enthusiasm of trust that lifts his
spirit above them all, into a region of fellowship with God which no
tumult can invade, and which no remembrance of black transgression
troubled and stained. His harp is his solace in his wanderings; and
while plaintive notes are flung from its strings, as is needful for the
deepest harmonies of praise here, every wailing tone melts into clear
ringing notes of glad affiance in the "God of his mercy."
Distinct references to the specific events of his wanderings are,
undoubtedly, rare in them, though even these are more obvious than has
been sometimes carelessly assumed. Their infrequency and comparative
vagueness has been alleged against the accuracy of the inscriptions
which allocate certain psalms to particular occasions. But in so far as
it is true that these allusions are rare and inexact, the fact is surely
rather in favour of than against the correctness of the titles. For if
these are not suggested by obvious references in the psalms to which
they are affixed, by what can they have been suggested but by a
tradition considerably older than the compilation of the psalter?
Besides, the analogy of all other poetry would lead us to expect
precisely what we find in these psalms--general and not detailed
allusions to the writer's circumstances. The poetic imagination does not
reproduce the bald prosaic facts which have set it in motion, but the
echo of them broken up and etherealised. It broods over them till life
stirs, and the winged creature bursts from them to sing and soar.
If we accept the title as accurate, the fifty-ninth psalm is the first
of these Songs of the Outlaw. It refers to the time "when Saul sent, and
they watched the house to kill him." Those critics who reject this date,
which they do on very weak grounds, lose themselves in a chaos of
assumptions as to the occasion of the psalm. The Chaldean invasion, the
assaults in the time of Nehemiah, and the era of the Maccabees, are
alleged with equal confidence and equal groundlessness. "We believe that
it is most advisable to adhere to the title, and most scientific to
ignore these hypotheses built on nothing." (Delitzsch.)
It is a devotional and poetic commentary on the story in Samuel. There
we get the bare facts of the assassins prowling by night round David's
house; of Michal's warning; of her ready-witted trick to gain time, and
of his hasty flight to Samuel at Ramah. In the narrative David is, as
usual at this period, passive and silent; but when we turn to the psalm,
we learn the tone of his mind as the peril bursts upon him, and all the
vulgar craft and fear fades from before his lofty enthusiasm of faith.
The psalm begins abruptly with a passionate cry for help, which is
repeated four times, thus bringing most vividly before us the extremity
of the danger and the persistency of the suppliant's trust. The peculiar
tenderness and closeness of his relation to his heavenly Friend, which
is so characteristic of David's psalms, and which they were almost the
first to express, breathes through the name by which he invokes help,
"my God." The enemies are painted in words which accurately correspond
with the history, and which by their variety reveal how formidable they
were to the psalmist. They "lie in wait (literally weave plots) for my
life." They are "workers of iniquity," "men of blood," insolent or
violent ("mighty" in English version). He asserts his innocence, as ever
in these Sauline psalms, and appeals to God in confirmation, "not for my
transgressions, nor for my sins, O Lord." He sees these eager tools of
royal malice hurrying to their congenial work: "they run and prepare
themselves." And then, rising high above all encompassing evils, he
grasps at the throne of God in a cry, which gains additional force when
we remember that the would-be murderers compassed his house in the
night. "Awake to meet me, and behold;" as if he had said, "In the
darkness do Thou see; at midnight sleep not Thou." The prayer is
continued in words which heap together with unwonted abundance the
Divine names, in each of which lie an appeal to God and a pillar of
faith. As Jehovah, the self-existent Fountain of timeless Being; as the
God of Hosts, the Commander of all the embattled powers of the universe,
whether they be spiritual or material; as the GOD of Israel, who calls
that people His, and has become theirs--he stirs up the strength of God
to "awake to visit all the heathen,"--a prayer which has been supposed
to compel the reference of the whole psalm to the assaults of Gentile
nations, but which may be taken as an anticipation on David's lips of
the truth that, "They are not all Israel which are of Israel." After a
terrible petition--"Be not merciful to any secret plotters of
evil"--there is a pause (Selah) to be filled, as it would appear, by
some chords on the harp, or the blare of the trumpets, thus giving time
to dwell on the previous petitions.
But still the thought of the foe haunts him, and he falls again to the
lower level of painting their assembling round his house, and their
whispers as they take their stand. It would appear that the watch had
been kept up for more than one night. How he flings his growing scorn of
them into the sarcastic words, "They return at evening; they growl like
a dog, and compass the city" (or "go their rounds in the city"). One
sees them stealing through the darkness, like the troops of vicious curs
that infest Eastern cities, and hears their smothered threatenings as
they crouch in the shadow of the unlighted streets. Then growing bolder,
as the night deepens and sleep falls on the silent houses: "Behold they
pour out with their mouth, swords (are) in their lips, for 'who hears'?"
In magnificent contrast with these skulking murderers fancying
themselves unseen and unheard, David's faith rends the heaven, and, with
a daring image which is copied in a much later psalm (ii. 4), shows God
gazing on them with Divine scorn which breaks in laughter and mockery. A
brief verse, which recurs at the end of the psalm, closes the first
portion of the psalm with a calm expression of untroubled trust, in
beautiful contrast with the peril and tumult of soul, out of which it
rises steadfast and ethereal, like a rainbow spanning a cataract. A
slight error appears to have crept into the Hebrew text, which can be
easily corrected from the parallel verse at the end, and then the quiet
confident words are--
"My strength! upon Thee will I wait,
For God is my fortress!"
The second portion is an intensification of the first; pouring out a
terrible prayer for exemplary retribution on his enemies; asking that no
speedy destruction may befall them, but that God would first of all
"make them reel" by the blow of His might; would then fling them
prostrate; would make their pride and fierce words a net to snare them;
and then, at last, would bring them to nothing in the hot flames of His
wrath--that the world may know that He is king. The picture of the
prowling dogs recurs with deepened scorn and firmer confidence that
they will hunt for their prey in vain.
"And they return at evening; they growl like a dog,
And compass the city.
They--they prowl about for food
If (or, since) they are not satisfied, they spend the night (in the
search.)"
There is almost a smile on his face as he thinks of their hunting about
for him, like hungry hounds snuffing for their meal in the kennels, and
growling now in disappointment--while he is safe beyond their reach. And
the psalm ends with a glad burst of confidence, and a vow of praise very
characteristic on his lips--
"But I--I will sing Thy power,
And shout aloud, in the morning, Thy mercy,
For Thou hast been a fortress for me.
And a refuge in the day of my trouble.
My strength! unto Thee will I harp,
For God is my fortress--the God of my mercy."
Thrice he repeats the vow of praise. His harp was his companion in his
flight, and even in the midst of peril the poet's nature appears which
regards all life as materials for song, and the devout spirit appears
which regards all trial as occasions for praise. He has calmed his own
spirit, as he had done Saul's, by his song, and by prayer has swung
himself clear above fightings and fears. The refrain, which occurs twice
in the psalm, witnesses to the growth of his faith even while he sings.
At first he could only say in patient expectance, "My strength! I will
wait upon thee, for God is my fortress." But at the end his mood is
higher, his soul has caught fire as it revolves, and his last words are
a triumphant amplification of his earlier trust: "My strength! unto thee
will I sing with the harp--for God is my fortress--the God of my
mercy."