The other psalms of this period must be left
unnoticed. The same general tone pervades them all. In many particulars they
closely resemble those of the Sauline period. But the resemblance fails very
significantly at one point. The emphatic assertion of his innocence is gone for
ever. Pardoned indeed he is, cleansed, conscious of God's favour, and able to
rejoice in it; but carrying to the end the remembrance of his sore fall, and
feeling it all the more penitently, the more he is sure of God's forgiveness.
Let us remember that there are sins which, once done, leave their traces on
memory and conscience, painting indelible forms on the walls of our
"chambers of imagery," and transmitting results which remission and
sanctifying do not, on earth at least, wholly obliterate. Let David's youthful
prayer be ours, "Keep back Thy servant from presumptuous sins: then shall
I be upright, and I shall be innocent from much transgression."
It does not fall
within the scope of this volume to deal with the suppression of Absalom's
revolt, nor with the ten years of rule that remained to David after his
restoration. The psalter does not appear to contain psalms which throw
light upon the somewhat clouded closing years of his reign. One psalm, indeed,
there is attributed to him, which is, at any rate, the work of an old man—a
sweet song into which mellow wisdom has condensed its final lessons—and a snatch
of it may stand instead of any summing-up of the life by us:
"Trust in the Lord, and do good;
Dwell in the land, and enjoy security;
Delight thyself also in the Lord,
And He shall give thee the desires of thy heart.
Commit thy way unto the Lord.
Rest in the Lord and wait patiently for Him.
I have been young and now am old,
Yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken.
I have seen the wicked in great power,
And spreading himself like a green tree....
Yet he passed away, and, lo, he was not."
May we not apply
the next words to the psalmist himself, and hear him calling us to look on him
as he lies on his dying bed—disturbed though it were by ignoble intrigues of
hungry heirs—after so many storms nearing the port; after so many vicissitudes,
close to the unchanging home; after so many struggles, resting quietly on the
breast of God: "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, for the end
of that man is peace?" Into this opal calmness, as of the liquid light of
sunset, all the flaming splendours of the hot day have melted. The music of his
songs die away into "peace;" as when some master holds our ears
captive with tones so faint that we scarce can tell sound from silence, until
the jar of common noises, which that low sweetness had deadened, rushes in.
One strain of a higher mood is preserved for us in
the historical books that prophesy of the true King, whom his own failures and
sins, no less than his consecration and victories, had taught him to expect.
The dying eyes see on the horizon of the far-off future the form of Him who is
to be a just and perfect ruler; before the brightness of whose presence, and
the refreshing of whose influence, verdure and beauty shall clothe the world.
As the shades gather, that radiant glory to come brightens. He departs in
peace, having seen the salvation from afar. It was fitting that this fullest of
his prophecies should be the last of his strains, as if the rapture which
thrilled the trembling strings had snapped them in twain.
And then, for earth, the
richest voice which God ever tuned for His praise was hushed, and the harp
of Jesse's son hangs untouched above his grave. But for him death was God's
last, best answer to his prayer, "O Lord, open Thou my lips;" and as
that cold but most loving hand unclothes him from the weakness of flesh, and
leads him in among the choirs of heaven, we can almost hear again his former
thanksgiving breaking from his immortal lips, "Thou hast put a new song
into my mouth," whose melodies, unsaddened by plaintive minors of
penitence and pain, are yet nobler and sweeter than the psalms which he sang
here, and left to be the solace and treasure of all generations!
No comments:
Post a Comment