his great perplexity his greatest fear was lest he should sin; and,
therefore, he cast about for the most likely method for avoiding it, and
he determined to be silent. It is right excellent when a man can
strengthen himself in a good course by the remembrance of a well and
wisely-formed resolve. “What I have written I have written,” or what I
have spoken I will perform, may prove a good strengthener to a man in a
fixed course of right. “_I will take heed to my ways._” To avoid sin one
had need be very circumspect, and keep one’s actions as with a guard or
garrison. Unguarded ways are generally unholy ones. Heedless is another
word for graceless. In times of sickness or other trouble we must watch
against the sins peculiar to such trials, especially against murmuring
and repining. “_That I sin not with my tongue._” Tongue sins are great
sins: like sparks of fire ill-words spread, and do great damage. If
believers utter hard words of God in times of depression, the ungodly
will take them up and use them as a justification for their sinful
courses. If a man’s own children rail at him, no wonder if his enemies’
mouths are full of abuse. Our tongue always wants watching, for it is
restive as an ill-broken horse; but especially must we hold it in when
the sharp cuts of the Lord’s rod excite it to rebel. “_I will keep my
mouth with a bridle_,” or more accurately, with a muzzle. The original
does not so much mean a bridle to check the tongue as a muzzle to stop
it altogether. David was not quite so wise as our translation would make
him; if he had resolved to be very guarded in his speech, it would have
been altogether commendable, but when he went so far as to condemn
himself to entire silence, “even from good,” there must have been at
least a little sullenness in his soul. In trying to avoid one fault, he
fell into another. To use the tongue against God is a sin of commission,
but not to use it at all involves an evident sin of omission.
Commendable virtues may be followed so eagerly that we may fall into
vices; to avoid Scylla we run into Charybdis. “_While the wicked is
before me._” This qualifies the silence, and almost screens it from
criticism, for bad men are so sure to misuse even our holiest speech,
that it is as well not to cast any of our pearls before such swine; but
what if the Psalmist meant, “I was silent while I had the prosperity of
the wicked in my thoughts,” then we see the discontent and questioning
of his mind, and the muzzled mouth indicates much that is not to be
commended. Yet, if we blame we must also praise, for the highest wisdom
suggests that when good men are bewildered with sceptical thoughts, they
should not hasten to repeat them, but should fight out their inward
battle upon its own battlefield. The firmest believers are exercised
with unbelief, and it would be doing the devil’s work with a vengeance
if they were to publish abroad all their questionings and suspicions. If
I have the fever myself, there is no reason why I should communicate it
to my neighbours. If any on board the vessel of my soul are diseased, I
will put my heart in quarantine, and allow none to go on shore in the
boat of speech till I have a clean bill of health.
2. “_I was dumb with silence._” He was as strictly speechless as if he
had been tongueless—not a word escaped him. He was as silent as the
dumb. “_I held my peace, even from good._” Neither bad nor good escaped
his lips. Perhaps he feared that if he began to talk at all, he would be
sure to speak amiss, and, therefore, he totally abstained. It was an
easy, safe, and effectual way of avoiding sin, if it did not involve a
neglect of the duty which he owed to God to speak well of his name. Our
divine Lord was silent before the wicked, but not altogether so, for
before Pontius Pilate he witnessed a good confession, and asserted his
kingdom. A sound course of action may be pushed to the extreme, and
become a fault. “_And my sorrow was stirred._” Inward grief was made to
work and ferment by want of vent. The pent-up floods were swollen and
agitated. Utterance is the natural outlet for the heart’s anguish, and
silence is, therefore, both an aggravation of the evil and a barrier
against its cure. In such a case the resolve to hold one’s peace needs
powerful backing, and even this is most likely to give way when grief
rushes upon the soul. Before a flood gathering in force and foaming for
outlet the strongest banks are likely to be swept away. Nature may do
her best to silence the expression of discontent, but unless grace comes
to her rescue, she will be sure to succumb.
3 My heart was hot within me, while I was musing the fire burned:
_then_ spake I with my tongue,
4 LORD, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what
it _is_; _that_ I may know how frail I _am_.
5 Behold, thou hast made my days _as_ an handbreadth; and mine age
_is_ as nothing before thee: verily every man at his best state _is_
altogether vanity. Selah.
6 Surely every man walketh in a vain shew: surely they are
disquieted in vain: he heapeth up _riches_, and knoweth not who
shall gather them.
3. “_My heart was hot within me._” The friction of inward thoughts
produced an intense mental heat. The door of his heart was shut, and
with the fire of sorrow burning within, the chamber of his soul soon
grew unbearable with heat. Silence is an awful thing for a sufferer, it
is the surest method to produce madness. Mourner, tell your sorrow; do
it first and most fully to God, but even to pour it out before some wise
and godly friend is far from being wasted breath. “_While I was musing
the fire burned._” As he thought upon the ease of the wicked and his own
daily affliction, he could not unravel the mystery of providence, and
therefore he became greatly agitated. While his heart was musing it was
fusing, for the subject was confusing. It became harder every moment to
be quiet; his volcanic soul was tossed with an inward ocean of fire, and
heaved to and fro with a mental earthquake; an eruption was imminent,
the burning lava must pour forth in a fiery stream. “_Then spake I with
my tongue._” The original is grandly laconic. “_I spake._” The muzzled
tongue burst all its bonds. The gag was hurled away. Misery, like
murder, will out. You can silence praise, but anguish is clamorous.
Resolve or no resolve, heed or no heed, sin or no sin, the impetuous
torrent forced for itself a channel and swept away every restraint.
4. “_Lord._” It is well that the vent of his soul was Godward and not
towards man. Oh! if my swelling heart must speak, Lord let it speak with
thee; even if there be too much of natural heat in what I say, thou wilt
be more patient with me than man, and upon thy purity it can cast no
stain; whereas if I speak to my fellows, they may harshly rebuke me or
else learn evil from my petulance. “_Make me to know my end._” Did he
mean the same as Elias in his agony, “Let me die, I am no better than my
fathers?” Perhaps so. At any rate, he rashly and petulantly desired to
know the end of his wretched life, that he might begin to reckon the
days till death should put a finis to his woe. Impatience would pry
between the folded leaves. As if there were no other comfort to be had,
unbelief would fain hide itself in the grave and sleep itself into
oblivion. David was neither the first nor the last who had spoken
unadvisedly in prayer. Yet, there is a better meaning: the Psalmist
would know more of the shortness of life, that he might better bear its
transient ills, and herein we may safely kneel with him, uttering the
same petition. That there is no end to its misery is the hell of hell;
that there is an end to life’s sorrow is the hope of all who have a hope
beyond the grave. God is the best teacher of the divine philosophy which
looks for an expected end. They who see death through the Lord’s glass,
see a fair sight, which makes them forget the evil of life in foreseeing
the end of life. “_And the measure of my days._” David would fain be
assured that his days would be soon over and his trials with them; he
would be taught anew that life is measured out to us by wisdom, and is
not a matter of chance. As the trader measures his cloth by inches, and
ells, and yards, so with scrupulous accuracy is life measured out to
man. “_That I may know how frail I am_,” or when I shall cease to be.
Alas! poor human nature, dear as life is, man quarrels with God at such
a rate that he would sooner cease to be than bear the Lord’s
appointment. Such pettishness in a saint! Let us wait till we are in a
like position, and we shall do no better. The ship on the stocks wonders
that the barque springs a leak, but when it has tried the high seas, it
marvels that its timbers hold together in such storms. David’s case is
not recorded for our imitation, but for our learning.
5. “_Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth._” Upon
consideration, the Psalmist finds little room to bewail the length of
life, but rather to bemoan its shortness. What changeful creatures we
are! One moment we cry to be rid of existence, and the next instant beg
to have it prolonged! A handbreadth is one of the shortest natural
measures, being the breadth of four fingers; such is the brevity of
life, by divine appointment; God has made it so, fixing the period in
wisdom. The “_behold_” calls us to attention; to some the thought of
life’s hastiness will bring the acutest pain, to others the most solemn
earnestness. How well should those live who are to live so little! Is my
earthly pilgrimage so brief? then let me watch every step of it, that in
the little of time there may be much of grace. “_And mine age is as
nothing before thee._” So short as not to amount to an entity. Think of
eternity, and an angel is as a new-born babe, the world a fresh blown
bubble, the sun a spark just fallen from the fire, and man a nullity.
Before the Eternal, all the age of frail man is less than one ticking of
a clock. “_Verily, every man at his best state is altogether vanity._”
This is the surest truth, that nothing about man is either sure or true.
Take man at his best, he is but a man, and man is a mere breath,
unsubstantial as the wind. Man is _settled_, as the margin has it, and
by divine decree it is settled that he shall not be settled. He is
constant only in inconstancy. His vanity is his only verity; his best,
of which he is vain, is but vain; and this is verily true of every man,
that everything about him is every way fleeting. This is sad news for
those whose treasures are beneath the moon; those whose glorying is in
themselves may well hang the flag half-mast; but those whose best estate
is settled upon them in Christ Jesus in the land of unfading flowers,
may rejoice that it is no vain thing in which they trust.
6. “_Surely every man walketh in a vain shew._” Life is but a passing
pageant. This alone is sure, that nothing is sure. All around us shadows
mock us; we walk among them, and too many live for them as if the
mocking images were substantial; acting their borrowed parts with zeal
fit only to be spent on realities, and lost upon the phantoms of this
passing scene. Worldly men walk like travellers in a mirage, deluded,
duped, deceived, soon to be filled with disappointment and despair.
“_Surely they are disquieted in vain._” Men fret, and fume, and worry,
and all for mere nothing. They are shadows pursuing shadows, while death
pursues them. He who toils and contrives, and wearies himself for gold,
for fame, for rank, even if he wins his desire, finds at the end his
labour lost; for like the treasure of the miser’s dream, it all vanishes
when the man awakes in the world of reality. Read well this text, and
then listen to the clamour of the market, the hum of the exchange, the
din of the city streets, and remember that all this _noise_ (for so the
word means), this breach of quiet, is made about unsubstantial, fleeting
vanities. Broken rest, anxious fear, over-worked brain, failing mind,
lunacy, these are steps in the process of disquieting with many, and all
to be rich, or, in other words, to load one’s self with the thick clay;
clay, too, which a man must leave so soon. “_He heapeth up riches, and
knoweth not who shall gather them._” He misses often the result of his
ventures, for there are many slips between the cup and the lips. His
wheat is sheaved, but an interloping robber bears it away—as often
happens with the poor Eastern husbandman; or, the wheat is even stored,
but the invader feasts thereon. Many work for others all unknown to
them. Especially does this verse refer to those all-gathering muckrakes,
who in due time are succeeded by all-scattering forks, which scatter
riches as profusely as their sires gathered them parsimoniously. We know
not our heirs, for our children die, and strangers fill the old
ancestral halls; estates change hands, and entail, though riveted with a
thousand bonds, yields to the corroding power of time. Men rise up early
and sit up late to build a house, and then the stranger tramps along its
passages, laughs in its chambers, and forgetful of its first builder,
calls it all his own. Here is one of the evils under the sun for which
no remedy can be prescribed.
7 And now, LORD, what wait I for? my hope _is_ in thee.
8 Deliver me from all my transgressions: make me not the reproach of
the foolish.
9 I was dumb, I opened not my mouth; because thou didst _it_.
10 Remove thy stroke away from me: I am consumed by the blow of
thine hand.
11 When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity, thou makest
his beauty to consume away like a moth: surely every man _is_
vanity. Selah.
12 Hear my prayer, O LORD, and give ear unto my cry; hold not thy
peace at my tears: for I _am_ a stranger with thee, _and_ a
sojourner, as all my fathers _were_.
13 O spare me, that I may recover strength, before I go hence, and
be no more.
7. “_And now, Lord, what wait I for?_” What is there in these phantoms
to enchant me? Why should I linger where the prospect is so uninviting,
and the present so trying? It were worse than vanity to linger in the
abodes of sorrow to gain a heritage of emptiness. The Psalmist,
therefore, turns to his God, in disgust of all things else; he has
thought on the world and all things in it, and is relieved by knowing
that such vain things are all passing away; he has cut all cords which
bound him to earth, and is ready to sound “Boot and saddle, up and
away.” “_My hope is in thee._” The Lord is self-existent and true, and
therefore worthy of the confidence of men; he will live when all the
creatures die, and his fulness will abide when all second causes are
exhausted; to him, therefore, let us direct our expectation, and on him
let us rest our confidence. Away from sand to rock let all wise builders
turn themselves, for if not to-day, yet surely ere long, a storm will
rise before which nothing will be able to stand but that which has the
lasting element of faith in God to cement it. David had but one hope,
and that hope entered within the veil, hence he brought his vessel to
safe anchorage, and after a little drifting all was peace.
8. “_Deliver me from all my transgressions._” How fair a sign it is when
the Psalmist no longer harps upon his sorrows, but begs freedom from his
sins! What is sorrow when compared with sin! Let but the poison of sin
be gone from the cup, and we need not fear its gall, for the bitter will
act medicinally. None can deliver a man from his transgressions but the
blessed One who is called Jesus, because he saves his people from their
sins; and when he once works this great deliverance for a man from the
cause, the consequences are sure to disappear too. The thorough
cleansing desired is well worthy of note: to be saved from some
transgressions would be of small benefit; total and perfect deliverance
is needed. “_Make me not the reproach of the foolish._” The wicked are
the foolish here meant: such are always on the watch for the faults of
saints, and at once make them the theme of ridicule. It is a wretched
thing for a man to be suffered to make himself the butt of unholy scorn
by apostasy from the right way. Alas, how many have thus exposed
themselves to well-deserved reproach! Sin and shame go together and from
both David would fain be preserved.
9. “_I was dumb, I opened not my mouth; because thou didst it._” This
had been far clearer if it had been rendered, “I am silenced, I will not
open my mouth.” Here we have a nobler silence, purged of all sullenness,
and sweetened with submission. Nature failed to muzzle the mouth, but
grace achieved the work in the worthiest manner. How like in appearance
may two very different things appear! silence is ever silence, but it
may be sinful in one case and saintly in another. What a reason for
hushing every murmuring thought is the reflection, “because thou didst
it”! It is his right to do as he wills, and he always wills to do that
which is wisest and kindest; why should I then arraign his dealings?
Nay, if it be indeed the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good.
10. “_Remove thy stroke away from me._” Silence from all repining did
not prevent the voice of prayer, which must never cease. In all
probability the Lord would grant the Psalmist’s petition, for he usually
removes affliction when we are resigned to it; if we kiss the rod, our
Father always burns it. When we are still, the rod is soon still. It is
quite consistent with resignation to pray for the removal of a trial.
David was fully acquiescent in the divine will, and yet found it in his
heart to pray for deliverance; indeed, it was while he was rebellious
that he was prayerless about his trial, and only when he became
submissive did he plead for mercy. “_I am consumed by the blow of thine
hand._” Good pleas may be found in our weakness and distress. It is well
to show our Father the bruises which his scourge has made, for
peradventure his fatherly pity will bind his hands, and move him to
comfort us in his bosom. It is not to consume us, but to consume our
sins, that the Lord aims at in his chastisements.
11. “_When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity._” God does
not trifle with his rod; he uses it because of sin, and with a view to
whip us from it; hence he means his strokes to be felt, and felt they
are. “_Thou makest his beauty to consume away like a moth._” As the moth
frets the substance of the fabric, mars all its beauty, and leaves it
worn out and worthless, so do the chastisements of God discover to us
our folly, weakness, and nothingness, and make us feel ourselves to be
as worn-out vestures, worthless and useless. Beauty must be a poor thing
when a moth can consume it and a rebuke can mar it. All our desires and
delights are wretched moth-eaten things when the Lord visits us in his
anger. “_Surely every man is vanity._” He is as Trapp wittily says “a
curious picture of nothing.” He is unsubstantial as his own breath, a
vapour which appeareth for a little while, and then vanisheth away.
_Selah._ Well may this truth bring us to a pause, like the dead body of
Amasa, which, lying in the way, stopped the hosts of Joab.
12. “_Hear my prayer, O Lord._” Drown not my pleadings with the sound of
thy strokes. Thou hast heard the clamour of my sins, Lord, hear the
laments of my prayers. “_And give ear unto my cry._” Here is an advance
in intensity: a cry is more vehement, pathetic, and impassioned, than a
prayer. The main thing was to have the Lord’s ear and heart. “_Hold not
thy peace at my tears._” This is a yet higher degree of importunate
pleading. Who can withstand tears, which are the irresistible weapons of
weakness? How often women, children, beggars, and sinners, have betaken
themselves to tears as their last resort, and therewith have won the
desire of their hearts!—“This shower, blown up by tempest of the soul,”
falls not in vain. Tears speak more eloquently than ten thousand
tongues; they act as keys upon the wards of tender hearts, and mercy
denies them nothing, if through them the weeper looks to richer drops,
even to the blood of Jesus. When our sorrows pull up the sluices of our
eyes, God will ere long interpose and turn our mourning into joy. Long
may he be quiet as though he regarded not, but the hour of deliverance
will come, and come like the morning when the dewdrops are plentiful.
“_For I am a stranger with thee._” Not _to_ thee, but _with_ thee. Like
thee, my Lord, a stranger among the sons of men, an alien from my
mother’s children. God made the world, sustains it, and owns it, and yet
men treat him as though he were a foreign intruder; and as they treat
the Master, so do they deal with the servants. “’Tis no surprising thing
that we should be unknown.” These words may also mean, “I share the
hospitality of God,” like a stranger entertained by a generous host.
Israel was bidden to deal tenderly with the stranger, and the God of
Israel has in much compassion treated us poor aliens with unbounded
liberality. “_And a sojourner, as all my fathers were._” They knew that
this was not their rest; they passed through life in pilgrim guise, they
used the world as travellers use an inn, and even so do I. Why should we
dream of rest on earth when our fathers’ sepulchres are before our eyes?
If they had been immortal, their sons would have had an abiding city
this side the tomb; but as the sires were mortal, so must their
offspring pass away. All of our lineage, without exception, were passing
pilgrims, and such are we. David uses the fleeting nature of our life as
an argument for the Lord’s mercy, and it is such a one as God will
regard. We show pity to poor pilgrims, and so will the Lord.
13. “_O spare me._” Put by thy rod. Turn away thine angry face. Give me
breathing time. Do not kill me. “_That I may recover strength._” Let me
have sufficient cessation from pain, to be able to take repose and
nourishment, and so recruit my wasted frame. He expects to die soon, but
begs a little respite from sorrow, so as to be able to rally and once
more enjoy life before its close. “_Before I go hence, and be no more._”
So far as this world is concerned, death is a being no more; such a
state awaits us, we are hurrying onward towards it. May the short
interval which divides us from it be gilded with the sunlight of our
heavenly Father’s love. It is sad to be an invalid from the cradle to
the grave, far worse to be under the Lord’s chastisements by the month
together, but what are these compared with the endurance of the endless
punishment threatened to those who die in their sins!
EXPLANATORY NOTES AND QUAINT SAYINGS.
_Title.—“To Jeduthun.”_ A Levite of the family of Merari, and one of the
great masters of the temple of music. The department superintended by
Jeduthun and his colleagues in the temple service was that of the
“instruments of the song of God,” by which are intended the nebel or
psaltery, the kinnor or harp, and the metsiltaim or cymbals. In 2 Chron.
xxxv. 15, Jeduthun is called “the king’s seer,” which would seem to
indicate that he was the medium of divine guidance to David. The name
occurs in the title of Psalms xxxix., lxii., lxxvii.; where some have
thought that it indicates some special kind of composition, and others
some instrument of music, but without reason.—_William Lindsay
Alexander, in Kitto’s Cyclopædia._
_Whole Psalm._—The most beautiful of all the elegies in the Psalter.—_H.
Ewald._
_Verse 1.—“I said.”_ It was to himself that he said it; and it is
impossible for any other to prove a good or a wise man, without much of
this kind of speech to himself. It is one of the most excellent and
distinguishing faculties of a reasonable creature; much beyond vocal
speech, for in that, some birds may imitate us; but neither bird nor
beast has anything of this kind of language, of reflecting or
discoursing with itself. It is a wonderful brutality in the greatest
part of men, who are so little conversant in this kind of speech, being
framed and disposed for it, and which is not only of itself excellent,
but of continual use and advantage; but it is a common evil among men to
go abroad, and out of themselves, which is a madness, and a true
distraction. It is true, a man hath need of a well set mind, when he
speaks to himself; for otherwise, he may be worse company to himself
than if he were with others. But he ought to endeavour to have a better
with him, to call in God to his heart to dwell with him. If thus we did,
we should find how sweet this were to speak to ourselves, by now and
then intermixing our speech with discourses unto God. For want of this,
the most part not only lose their time in vanity, in their converse
abroad with others, but do carry in heaps of that vanity to the stock
which is in their own hearts, and do converse with that in secret, which
is the greatest and deepest folly in the world.—_Robert Leighton._
_Verse 1._—No lesson so hard to be learned of us here, as the wise and
discreet government of the tongue. David promised a singular care of
this, “_I said, I will take heed_,” etc. Socrates reports of one Pambo,
an honest, well meaning man, who came to his friend, desiring him to
teach him one of David’s Psalms, he read to him this verse. He answered:
this one verse is enough, if I learn it well. Nineteen years after, he
said, in all that time he had hardly learned that one verse.—_Samuel
Page._
_Verse 1.—“That I sin not with my tongue.”_ Man’s mouth, though it be
but a little hole, will hold a world full of sin. For there is not any
sin forbidden in the law or gospel which is not spoken by the tongue, as
well as thought in the heart, or done in the life. Is it not then almost
as difficult to rule the tongue as to rule the world?—_Edward Reynor._
_Verse 1.—“I will keep a muzzle on my mouth, whilst a wicked man is
before me.”_—_New Translation, by Charles Carter._