more than hungering; hunger you can palliate, but thirst is awful,
insatiable, clamorous, deadly. O to have the most intense craving after
the highest good! this is no questionable mark of grace. “_For God._”
Not merely for the temple and the ordinances, but for fellowship with
God himself. None but spiritual men can sympathise with this thirst.
“_For the living God._” Because he lives, and gives to men the living
water; therefore we, with greater eagerness, desire him. A dead God is a
mere mockery; we loathe such a monstrous deity; but the ever-living God,
the perennial fountain of life and light and love, is our soul’s desire.
What are gold, honour, pleasure, but dead idols? May we never pant for
these. “_When shall I come and appear before God?_” He who loves the
Lord loves also the assemblies wherein his name is adored. Vain are all
pretences to religion where the outward means of grace have no
attraction. David was never so much at home as in the house of the Lord;
he was not content with private worship; he did not forsake the place
where saints assemble, as the manner of some is. See how pathetically he
questions as to the prospect of his again uniting in the joyous
gathering! How he repeats and reiterates his desire! After his God, his
Elohim (his God to be worshipped, who had entered into covenant with
him), he pined even as the drooping flowers for the dew, or the moaning
turtle for her mate. It were well if all our resortings to public
worship were viewed as appearances before God, it would then be a sure
mark of grace to delight in them. Alas, how many appear before the
minister, or their fellow men, and think that enough! “To see the face
of God” is the nearer translation of the Hebrew; but the two ideas may
be combined—he would see his God and be seen of him; this is worth
thirsting after!
3.—“_My tears have been my meat day and night._” Salt meats, but
healthful to the soul. When a man comes to tears, constant tears,
plenteous tears, tears that fill his cup and trencher, he is in earnest
indeed. As the big tears stand in the stag’s eyes in her distress, so
did the salt drops glitter in the eyes of David. His appetite was gone,
his tears not only seasoned his meat, but became his only meat, he had
no mind for other diet. Perhaps it was well for him that the heart could
open the safety valves; there is a dry grief far more terrible than
showery sorrows. His tears since they were shed because God was
blasphemed, were “honourable dew,” drops of holy water, such as Jehovah
putteth into his bottle. “_While they continually say unto me, Where is
thy God?_” Cruel taunts come naturally from coward minds. Surely they
might have left the mourner alone; he could weep no more than he did—it
was a supererogation of malice to pump more tears from a heart which
already overflowed. Note how incessant was their jeer, and how artfully
they framed it! It cut the good man to the bone to have the faithfulness
of his God impugned. They had better have thrust needles into his eyes
than have darted insinuations against his God. Shimei may here be
alluded to who after this fashion mocked David as he fled from Absalom.
He roundly asserted that David was a bloody man, and that God was
punishing him for supplanting Saul and his house; his wish was father to
his thought. The wicked know that our worst misfortune would be to lose
God’s favour, hence their diabolical malice leads them to declare that
such is the case. Glory be to God, they lie in their throats, for our
God is in the heavens, ay, and in the furnace too, succouring his
people.
_Verse 4._—“_When I remember these things, I pour out my soul in me._”
When he harped upon his woes his heart melted into water and was poured
out upon itself. God hidden, and foes raging, a pair of evils enough to
bring down the stoutest heart! Yet why let reflections so gloomy engross
us, since the result is of no value: merely to turn the soul on itself,
to empty it from itself into itself is useless, how much better to pour
out the heart before the Lord! The prisoner’s treadwheel might sooner
land him in the skies than mere inward questioning raise us nearer to
consolation. “_For I had gone with the multitude, I went with them to
the house of God._” Painful reflections were awakened by the memory of
past joys; he had mingled in the pious throng, their numbers had helped
to give him exhilaration and to awaken holy delight, their company had
been a charm to him as with them he ascended the hill of Zion. Gently
proceeding with holy ease, in comely procession, with frequent strains
of song, he and the people of Jehovah had marched in reverent ranks up
to the shrine of sacrifice, the dear abode of peace and holiness. Far
away from such goodly company the holy man pictures the sacred scene and
dwells upon the details of the pious march. “_With the voice of joy and
praise, with a multitude that kept holyday._” The festive noise is in
his ears, and the solemn dance before his eyes. Perhaps he alludes to
the removal of the ark and to the glorious gatherings of the tribes on
that grand national holy day and holiday. How changed his present place!
For Zion, a wilderness; for the priests in white linen, soldiers in
garments of war; for the song, the sneer of blasphemy; for the
festivity, lamentation; for joy in the Lord, a mournful dirge over his
absence.
“I sigh to think of happier days
When thou, O God, wast nigh,
When every heart was tuned to praise;
And none more blest than I.”
When in a foreign land, amid the idolatries of Popery, we have felt just
the same home-sickness for the house of the Lord which is here
described; we have said “Ziona, Ziona, our holy and beautiful house,
when shall I see thee again? Thou church of the living God, my mother,
my home, when shall I hear thy Psalms and holy prayers, and once again
behold the Lord in the midst of his people?” David appears to have had a
peculiarly tender remembrance of _the singing_ of the pilgrims, and
assuredly it is the most delightful part of worship and that which comes
nearest to the adoration of heaven. What a degradation to supplant the
intelligent song of the whole congregation by the theatrical
prettinesses of a quartette, the refined niceties of a choir, or the
blowing off of wind from inanimate bellows and pipes! We might as well
pray by machinery as praise by it.
5. “_Why art thou cast down, O my soul?_” As though he were two men, the
Psalmist talks to himself. His faith reasons with his fears, his hope
argues with his sorrows. These present troubles, are they to last for
ever? The rejoicings of my foes, are they more than empty talk? My
absence, from the solemn feasts, is that a perpetual exile? Why this
deep depression, this faithless fainting, this chicken-hearted
melancholy? As Trapp says, “David chideth David out of the dumps;” and
herein he is an example for all desponding ones. To search out the cause
of our sorrow is often the best surgery for grief. Self-ignorance is not
bliss; in this case it is misery. The mist of ignorance magnifies the
causes of our alarm; a clearer view will make monsters dwindle into
trifles. “_Why art thou disquieted within me?_” Why is my quiet gone? If
I cannot keep a public Sabbath, yet wherefore do I deny my soul her
indoor Sabbath? Why am I agitated like a troubled sea, and why do my
thoughts make a noise like a tumultuous multitude? The causes are not
enough to justify such utter yielding to despondency. Up, my heart! What
aileth thee? Play the man, and thy castings down shall turn to liftings
up, and thy disquietudes to calm. “_Hope thou in God._” If every evil be
let loose from Pandora’s box, yet is there hope at the bottom. This is
the grace that swims, though the waves roar and be troubled. God is
unchangeable, and therefore his grace is the ground for unshaken hope.
If everything be dark, yet the day will come, and meanwhile hope carries
stars in her eyes; her lamps are not dependent upon oil from without,
her light is fed by secret visitations of God, which sustain the spirit.
“_For I shall yet praise him._” Yet will my sighs give place to songs,
my mournful ditties shall be exchanged for triumphal pæans. A loss of
the present sense of God’s love is not a loss of that love itself; the
jewel is there, though it gleams not on our breast; hope knows her title
good when she cannot read it clear; she expects the promised boon though
present providence stands before her with empty hands. “_For I shall yet
praise him for the help of his countenance._” Salvations come from the
propitious face of God, and he will yet lift up his countenance upon us.
Note well that the main hope and chief desire of David rest in the smile
of God. His face is what he seeks and hopes to see, and this will
recover his low spirits, this will put to scorn his laughing enemies,
this will restore to him all the joys of those holy and happy days
around which memory lingers. This is grand cheer. This verse, like the
singing of Paul and Silas, looses chains and shakes prison walls. He who
can use such heroic language in his gloomy hours will surely conquer. In
the garden of hope grow the laurels for future victories, the roses of
coming joy, the lilies of approaching peace.
6 O my God, my soul is cast down within me; therefore will I
remember thee from the land of Jordan, and of the Hermonites, from
the hill Mizar.
7 Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts; all thy
waves and thy billows are gone over me.
8 _Yet_ the LORD will command his lovingkindness in the daytime, and
in the night his song _shall be_ with me, _and_ my prayer unto the
God of my life.
9 I will say unto God my rock, Why hast thou forgotten me? why go I
mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?
10 _As_ with a sword in my bones, mine enemies reproach me; while
they say daily unto me, Where _is_ thy God?
11 Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted
within me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him, _who is_
the health of my countenance, and my God.
_6. “O my God, my soul is cast down within me.”_ Here the song begins
again upon the brass. So sweet an ending deserves that for the sake of a
second hopeful close the Psalm should even begin again. Perhaps the
Psalmist’s dejection continued, the spasm of despondency returned; well,
then, he will down with his harp again, and try again its power upon
himself, as in his younger days, he saw its influence upon Saul when the
evil spirit came upon him. With God the song begins the second time more
nearly than at first. The singer was also a little more tranquil.
Outward expression of desire was gone; there was no visible panting; the
sorrow was now all restrained within doors. Within or upon himself he
was cast down; and, verily, it may well be so, while our thoughts look
more within than upward. If self were to furnish comfort, we should have
but poor provender. There is no solid foundation for comfort in such
fickle frames as our heart is subject to. It is well to tell the Lord
how we feel, and the more plain the confession the better: David talks
like a sick child to its mother, and we should learn to imitate him.
“_Therefore will I remember thee._” ’Tis well to fly to our God. Here is
_terra firma_. Blessed downcasting which drives us to so sure a rock of
refuge as thee, O Lord! “_From the hill Mizar._” He recalls his seasons
of choice communion by the river and among the hills, and especially
that dearest hour upon the little hill, where love spake her sweetest
language and revealed her nearest fellowship. It is great wisdom to
store up in memory our choice occasions of converse with heaven; we may
want them another day, when the Lord is slow in bringing back his
banished ones, and our soul is aching with fear. “His love in times
past” has been a precious cordial to many a fainting one; like soft
breath it has fanned the smoking flax into a flame, and bound up the
bruised reed. Oh, never-to-be-forgotten valley of Achor, thou art a door
of hope! Fair days, now gone, ye have left a light behind you which
cheers our present gloom. Or does David mean that even where he was he
would bethink him of his God; does he declare that, forgetful of time
and place, he would count Jordan as sacred as Siloa, Hermon as holy as
Zion, and even Mizar, that insignificant rising ground, as glorious as
the mountains which are round about Jerusalem! Oh! it is a heavenly
heart which can sing—
“To me remains nor place nor time;
My country is in every clime;
I can be calm and free from care
On any shore, since God is there.
“Could I be cast where thou art not,
That were indeed a dreadful lot,
But regions none remote I call,
Secure of finding God in all.”
7. “_Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts._” Thy
severe dealings with me seem to excite all creation to attack me;
heaven, and earth, and hell, call to each other, stirring each other up
in dreadful conspiracy against my peace. As in a waterspout, the deeps
above and below clasp hands, so it seemed to David that heaven and earth
united to create a tempest around him. His woes were incessant and
overwhelming. Billow followed billow, one sea echoed the roaring of
another; bodily pain aroused mental fear, Satanic suggestions chimed in
with mistrustful forebodings, outward tribulation thundered in awful
harmony with inward anguish: his soul seemed drowned as in a universal
deluge of trouble, over whose waves the providence of the Lord moved as
a watery pillar, in dreadful majesty inspiring the utmost terror. As for
the afflicted one he was like a lonely bark around which the fury of a
storm is bursting, or a mariner floating on a mast, almost every moment
submerged. “_All thy waves and thy billows are gone over me._” David
thought that every trouble in the world had met in him, but he
exaggerated, for _all_ the breaking waves of Jehovah have passed over
none but the Lord Jesus; there are griefs to which he makes his children
strangers for his love’s sake. Sorrow naturally states its case
forcibly; the mercy is that the Lord after all hath not dealt with us
according to our fears. Yet what a plight to be in! Atlantic rollers
sweeping in ceaseless succession over one’s head, waterspouts coming
nearer and nearer, and all the ocean in uproar around the weary swimmer;
most of the heirs of heaven can realise the description, for they have
experienced the like. This is a deep experience unknown to babes in
grace, but common enough to such as do business on great waters of
affliction: to such it is some comfort to remember that the waves and
billows are the Lords, “_thy_ waves and _thy_ billows,” says David, they
are all sent, and directed by him, and achieve his designs, and the
child of God knowing this, is the more resigned.
8. “_Yet the Lord will command his lovingkindness in the daytime._” Come
what may there shall be “a certain secret something” to sweeten all.
Lovingkindness is a noble life-belt in a rough sea. The day may darken
into a strange and untimely midnight, but the love of God ordained of
old to be the portion of the elect, shall be by sovereign decree meted
out to them. No day shall ever dawn on an heir of grace and find him
altogether forsaken of his Lord: the Lord reigneth, and as a sovereign
he will with authority command mercy to be reserved for his chosen.
“_And in the night._” Both divisions of the day shall be illuminated
with special love, and no stress of trial shall prevent it. Our God is
God of the nights as well as the days; none shall find his Israel
unprotected, be the hour what it may. “_His song shall be with me._”
Songs of praise for blessings received shall cheer the gloom of night.
No music sweeter than this. The belief that we shall yet glorify the
Lord for mercy given in extremity is a delightful stay to the soul.
Affliction may put out our candle, but if it cannot silence our song we
will soon light the candle again. “_And my prayer unto the God of my
life._” Prayer is yoked with praise. He who is the living God, is the
God of our life, from him we derive it, with him in prayer and praise we
spend it, to him we devote it, in him we shall perfect it. To be assured
that our sighs and songs shall both have free access to our glorious
Lord is to have reason for hope in the most deplorable condition.
9. “_I will say unto God my rock, Why hast thou forgotten me._” Faith is
allowed to enquire of her God the causes of his displeasure, and she is
even permitted to expostulate with him and put him in mind of his
promises, and ask why apparently they are not fulfilled. If the Lord be
indeed our refuge, when we find no refuge, it is time to be raising the
question, “Why is this?” Yet we must not let go our hold, the Lord must
be “_my_” rock still; we must keep to him as our alone confidence, and
never forego our interest in him. “_Why go I mourning because of the
oppression of the enemy?_” He who condescends to be pleaded with by
Abraham, his friend, allows us to put to him the question that we may
search out the causes of his severity towards us. Surely he can have no
pleasure in seeing the faces of his servants stained and squalid with
their tears; he can find no content in the harshness with which their
foes assail them. He can never take pleasure in the tyranny with which
Satan vexes them. Why then does he leave them to be mocked by his
enemies and theirs? How can the strong God, who is as firm and abiding
as a rock, be also as hard and unmoved as a rock towards those who trust
in him? Such enquiries humbly pressed often afford relief to the soul.
To know the reason for sorrow is in part to know how to escape it, or at
least to endure it. Want of attentive consideration often makes
adversity appear to be more mysterious and hopeless than it really is.
It is a pitiable thing for any man to have a limb amputated, but when we
know that the operation was needful to save life, we are glad to hear
that it has been successfully performed; even thus as trial unfolds, the
design of the Lord in sending it becomes far more easy to bear.
10. “_As with a sword in my bones, mine enemies reproach me._” Cruel
mockeries cut deeper than the flesh, they reach the soul as though a
rapier were introduced between the ribs to prick the heart. If
reproaches kill not, yet they are killing, the pain caused is
excruciating. The tongue cuts to the bone, and its wounds are hard to
cure. “_While they say daily unto me, Where is thy God?_” This is the
unkindest cut of all, reflecting as it does both upon the Lord’s
faithfulness and his servant’s character. Such was the malice of David’s
foes, that having thought of the cruel question, they _said_ it, said it
_daily_, repeated _it to him_, and that for a length of time; surely the
continual yapping of these curs at his heel was enough to madden him,
and perhaps would have done so had he not resorted to prayer and made
the persecutions of his enemies a plea with his Lord.
11. “_Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted
within me?_” In the rehearsal of his sorrow, he finds after all no
sufficient ground for being disquieted. Looked in the face, his fears
were not so overwhelming as they seemed when shrouded in obscurity.
“_Hope thou in God._” Let the anchor still keep its hold. God is
faithful, God is love, therefore there is room and reason for hope.
“_Who is the health of my countenance, and my God._” This is the same
hopeful expression as that contained in verse five, but the addition of
“_and my God_” shows that the writer was growing in confidence, and was
able defiantly to reply to the question, “Where is thy God?” Here, even
here, he is, ready to deliver me. I am not ashamed to own him amid your
sneers and taunts, for he will rescue me out of your hands. Thus faith
closes the struggle, a victor in fact by anticipation, and in heart by
firm reliance. The saddest countenance shall yet be made to shine, If
there be a taking of God at his word and an expectation of his
salvation.
“For yet I know I shall him praise
Who graciously to me,
The health is of my countenance,
Yea, mine own God is he.”
EXPLANATORY NOTES AND QUAINT SAYINGS.
_Title.—“Sons of Korah.”_ Who were _the sons of Korah_? These opinions
have more or less prevailed. One is that they sprang from some one of
that name in the days of David. Mudge and others think that the sons of
Korah were a society of musicians, founded or presided over by Korah.
Others think that the sons of Korah were the surviving descendants of
that miserable man who, together with two hundred and fifty of his
adherents, who were princes, perished when “the earth opened her mouth
and swallowed them up, together with Korah.” In Numbers xxvi. 11, we
read: “Notwithstanding the children of Korah died not.” They had taken
the warning given, and had departed from the tents of these wicked men.
Numbers xvi. 24, 26. It must be admitted that the name _Korah_ and the
patronymic _Korahite_ are found in the Scriptures in a way that creates
considerable doubt respecting the particular man from whom the Korahites
are named. See 1 Chron. i. 35; ii. 43; vi. 22, 54; ix. 19; xxvi. 1; 2
Chron. xx. 19. Yet the more common belief is that they descended from
him who perished for his gainsaying. This view is taken by Ainsworth
with entire confidence, by Gill, and others. Korah, who perished, was a
Levite. Whatever may have been their origin, it is clear _the sons of
Korah_ were a Levitical family of singers. Nothing, then, could be more
appropriate than the dedication of a sacred song to these very
people.—_William S. Plumer._
_Title.—“Sons of Korah.”_ The “_Korah_” whose “_sons_” are here spoken
of, is the Levite who headed the insurrection against Moses and Aaron in
the wilderness. Numbers xvi. We find his descendants existing as a
powerful Levitical family in the time of David, at least, if they are to
be identified, as is probable, with the Korahites mentioned in 1 Chron.
xii. 6, who, like our own warlike bishops of former times, seem to have
known how to doff the priestly vestment for the soldier’s armour, and
whose hand could wield the sword as well as strike the harp. The
Korahites were a part of the band who acknowledged David as their chief,
at Ziklag; warriors “whose faces,” it is said, “were like the faces of
lions, and who were (for speed) like gazelles upon the mountains.”
According to 1 Chron. ix. 17-19, the Korahites were in David’s time,
keepers of the threshold of the tabernacle; and still earlier, in the
time of Moses, watchmen at the entrance of the camp of the Levites. In 1
Chron. xxvi. 1-19, we find two branches of this family associated with
that of Merari, as guardians of the doors of the Temple. There is
probably an allusion to this their office, in Psalm lxxxiv. 10. But the
Korahites were also celebrated musicians and singers; see 1 Chron. vi.
16-33, where Heman, one of the three famous musicians of the time, is
said to be a Korahite (comp. 1 Chron. xxv). The musical reputation of
the family continued in the time of Jehoshaphat (2 Chron. xx. 19), where
we have the peculiar doubly plural form בְּנֵ הַקֶּרְחִים, “_Sons of the
Korahites_.”—_J. J. Stewart Perowne._
_Title.—“Sons of Korah.”_ Mediæval writers remark how here, as so often,
it was the will of God to raise up saints where they could have been
least looked for. Who should imagine that from the posterity of him who
said, “Ye take too much upon you, ye sons of Aaron,” should have risen
those whose sweet Psalms would be the heritage of the church of God to
the end of time?—_J. M. Neale._
_Verse 1.—“The hart panteth after the water brooks.”_ And here we have
started up, and sent leaping over the plain another of Solomon’s
favourites. What elegant creatures those gazelles are, and how
gracefully they bound!... The sacred writers frequently mention gazelles
under the various names of harts, roes, and hinds.... I have seen large
flocks of these panting harts gather round the water-brooks in the great
deserts of Central Syria, so subdued by thirst that you could approach
quite near them before they fled.—_W. M. Thomson._