THE SONG OF THE HARPERS BY THE
GLASSY SEA
I saw before me what seemed to be a crystal sea mixed
with fire. And on it stood all the people who had been victorious over the
beast and his statue and the number representing his name. They were all
holding harps that God had given them. And they were singing the song of
Moses, the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb:
"Great and marvelous are your actions,
Lord God Almighty.
Just and true are your ways,
O King of the nations. Rev. 15:2-3
The seven angels who were holding the bowls of the seven
plagues came from the Temple, clothed in spotless white linen with gold
belts across their chests. Rev. 15:6
Then I heard a mighty voice shouting from the Temple to
the seven angels, "Now go your ways and empty out the seven bowls of God's
wrath on the earth." Rev. 16:1
We have, in previous chapters, taken a rapid glance at
two out of the three great parallel series of visions in the Book of
Revelation—those of the Seals and those of the Trumpets. One
other group of figures, that of the Vials, still remains, previous to
the grand final disclosures regarding the Celestial City and the Church of
the glorified. We found the two former were preceded by magnificent
introductory visions—the adoration of the slain Lamb, and the Angel with the
golden censer standing by the golden altar. So also is it in the case of the
Vials, in which there was to be a new symbolic outpouring of divine judgment
on one especially of the portentous monsters delineated in chapter 13— "the
Beast and his image."
The true Church being, moreover, basely counterfeited in
this hybrid foe, which conjoined the horns of the Lamb with the mouth of the
dragon, could not fail to tremble for her own safety, and to stand in need
of a special upholding word of comfort in the prospect of retribution. That
preparatory vision of consolation is given in the words we are now to
consider. Before the seven golden-belted angels come forth from the opened
temple, bearing in their hands the cups or bowls of wrath to be poured on an
apostate church and an apostate world, John has his attention directed to
another "sign in heaven." It is a sea, calm as glass, mingled with
fire. A crowd of victors are seen on its shores, uniting with harp and voice
in a song of lofty adoration.
There would seem to be little doubt as to the real
allusion in the suggestive imagery. Standing, indeed, now (as the spectator
himself describes in chapter 14), "on the sands of the sea," looking across
the Aegean Sea—its calm waters transmuted into molten gold—the island-home
of the Apostle-prisoner and its surroundings may have possibly added power
and reality to the figure.
But who can question that it had its grand original in
the memories of another sea-shore—other minglings of fire—and other harps of
triumph? Who can fail, in this new apocalyptic representation, to call to
remembrance that ever-illustrious scene in early Jewish story—the proudest
in all the old Hebrew annals—when the Israelites, ranged on the sands of
Asia with the Red Sea between them and their old house of bondage, sang
their song of victory—Miriam and her sisters answering with timbrels, as
they made the shores ring with the refrain, "Sing to the Lord, for He has
triumphed gloriously: the horse and his rider has He thrown into the sea"?
Nor is it the name given, "The Song of Moses"—which alone
is suggestive of the allusion. The glassy sea was "mingled with fire."
Have we not here, also, the counterpart in that opening drama of the
Exodus—the pillar of fire giving its glorious light to Israel, but
flashing vengeance on their Egyptian pursuers? You may remember the
exceptional appointment on that night of miracle, with reference to this
fiery column—it "removed and went behind the Hebrews." At other times their
pioneer and precursor, it now remained in their rear; so that as the
Israelites, rank by rank, reached the opposite shore, they saw its lurid
light reflected in the waters. The opposite side of the same pillar formed a
murky cloud and darkness to the Egyptians; or, if it emitted light, it was
only the fitful gleams and coruscations of the forked lightning—the arrows
of God—to dazzle and perplex and terrify.
After the world's long night of peril, the symbolic
Church of 'just men made perfect'—God's glorified Israel—having left forever
behind them the land of their oppressors, stand safe on the heavenly shore.
Every billow of tribulation is hushed—all is changed into a calm, reflecting
the glory of the Everlasting Hills, and of the Sun of Righteousness. How
vivid the contrast between that glassy, waveless sea—without a disturbing
element—and the apostate Church on earth spoken of in chapter14 as "seated
on many waters"—fretted with tempest, tossed on a troubled ocean-sea
which cannot rest! Blessed and glorious emblem of everlasting tranquillity—these
celestial harpers celebrating the downfall of all evil, and recognizing, in
the survey of the past; the love, wisdom, and faithfulness of God's every
dealing—this their joyful testimony and experience on these blissful shores,
"We went through fire and through water, but You brought us out into a
wealthy place."
We may add, in a word, yet one other feature of
resemblance. It is the place which the vision occupies in the Apocalypse, in
connection with the pouring out of the vials; recalling vividly, also, the
vial-plagues of Egypt, the pouring forth of which preceded Israel's
emancipation. For although we have spoken of these beautiful words as a
prologue or introduction to the seven plagues which follow, perhaps from the
literal rendering of one of the phrases we may also assign to them this
additional significance, that they are not only anticipatory, but are
rather sung all through the course of the vial-outpouring. The golden-belted
angels pause, so to speak, to listen in silence to their mandate; but after
the former have issued from the temple, the song continues. It is not a
brief introductory solo merely—a solitary paean before the conflict; but
rather like martial music mingling in the roll of battle, or like words of
heart-cheer and sympathy borne ever and always, amid the surging of the
tempest, to the ears of the perishing crew. If so, the song has this
additional interesting characteristic, that it is being sung now—that as the
judgment-angels are abroad on their mission, the ear of faith can catch up
its strains. The song of the perfected Church we shall come to
hereafter; the present is that of the partially completed and completing
ranks of the glorified.
It is the song sung on the Heavenly Mount while the
battle is still raging in the plain beneath. Let us then, for a little,
ungird the wilderness-armor and hearken to the music of the harps of God. On
His own Sabbath, it may be, the day and hour of solemn truce, with the arms
of conflict piled on the silent sands, let us forget the Egypt plagues
behind, and the perils of the desert before, and listen with rapt reverence
to "the song of Moses, the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb."
There are various interesting views we may take of this
blended song. First, we may regard it as the Song of the two
Dispensations—that of the Old and the New—the mighty multitude of
redeemed gathered in under both, meeting under their great representative
heads—a united Church. The glorious company of apostles, the goodly
fellowship of prophets, and the noble army of martyrs, are assembled on the
celestial shores to sing the song of their common deliverance—to mingle
their combined yet diverse experiences, and proclaim these for the
encouragement of the drooping and faint-hearted, who are still struggling in
the conflict, or buffeting the billows.
How vast and varied are these experiences! Each harper
has his own tale to utter and his own song to sing. There are the
patriarchal harps swept by the hand of Abel and Noah, Abraham and
Joseph; telling of purposes of covenant love proclaimed amid the withered
bowers of Eden, or written in the rainbow of heaven that spanned the
receding waters of the flood, or recalling mercies that were showered around
the tent of the Pilgrim of Canaan, and the Captive in the Egyptian dungeon.
There are the prophetic harps, from Moses to Malachi, rehearsing
those glowing utterances which evoked of old their tuneful melodies. There
is Isaiah, resuming the very strain of his undying parable of consolation,
"Comfort, comfort my people." There is Hezekiah with his balm-words for the
troubled and terror-stricken, "God is our refuge and strength, a present
help in trouble," There is David and Daniel, with their older memories of
heroic faith and calm reliance, which led to ultimate deliverance and
victory. There is the harp of the Simeons and Annas, who, in their
day and generation, stood on the threshold of a new era of time, celebrating
still the praises of the great "Consolation of Israel," for whom they had
long waited, and waited not in vain. There is the Baptist, in the
presence of the "True Light," uttering louder than ever his old
proclamation, "He must increase, but I must decrease."
One after another of the apostolic band has his
own hallowed story to relate—reminiscences of touching tenderness, and
motives and encouragements to brave and stern endurance. John has
more glorious visions of endearing fellowship with his great Lord than all
the sublime picturings of Patmos. Paul has to tell how the things
that happened unto him "have fallen out rather to the furtherance of the
Gospel." Peter, in loud accents which know no faltering, can now
exclaim, "Lord, You know all things; You know that I love You." We can
listen to the holy women of Judea, and Galilee who tracked on earth
the footsteps of Incarnate Mercy, joining with the Miriams and the Deborahs
of the olden dispensation in abundantly uttering the memory of His great
goodness, and talking of His righteousness. There are the Marys and the
Elizabeths, rejoicing in God their Savior. There is the weeping penitent of
Gennesaret with nothing now but the tear of love in her eyes, sweeping her
harp with bolder hand because she had been forgiven much. There is the woman
of Sychar and Mary of Magdala, and the sisters of Bethany, and the other
holy watchers by the tomb of buried love, now echoing and prolonging the
song through everlasting ages which they were the first to raise, "The Lord
is risen indeed."
There are the martyred multitudes under Pagan
Rome, and the faithful and heroic confessors under Papal Rome, who
are described, in this vision of the crowned harpers, as having "gotten the
victory over the beast, and over his image, and over the number of his
name." But we are lost in the attempt to catch up or follow these lofty
harmonies. It is the blending, in one magnificent cadence, of all the
voices of the fast-gathering Church triumphant—from Adam, re-tuning the
broken harp of Paradise lost, to those who are at this very hour entering
the spirit-land; all of every rank and of every age—from the true Israelite
wearing the monarch's crown, to the true Israelite whose earthly birthright
was rags and penury—from the aged Melchizedecs and Methuselahs and Elis, to
the little children who sang their hosannahs in the temple—the
representatives of ten thousand thousand whose infant tongues, stilled on
earth, have been early tuned to the immortal song.
Oh! whatever be the jarring notes of conflicting ages and
conflicting sects here, all is harmony yonder. "Those who are delivered from
the noise of archers," now, in the fellowship of unmarred and unbroken
communion, rehearse to one another, harp answering to harp, and soul to
soul, "the righteous acts of the Lord." It is the realization of the
longed-for unity of God's people—the interchange of the patriarchal and the
apostolic—the Jewish and the Christian—the Song of Moses blending in
sweet accord with the Song of the Lamb; and the words of sublime
liturgy, so often belied on earth, become the noble and truthful liturgy of
Heaven, "The Church throughout all the world does acknowledge You!"
II. Another view we may take of this blended ascription
is, that which is most obvious, to regard it as the song of PROVIDENCE and
the song of GRACE. "The Song of Moses"—the song of Providence. "The Song of
the Lamb"—the song of Grace, or Redemption. The anthem itself is an
antiphonal strain, sung in alternate parts; and its subject-matter, as given
in verses 3, 4, would seem to justify the twofold division. It was God's
wondrous providential "works," in the miraculous plagues of Egypt and
the passage of the Red Sea, which formed the special theme of the olden Song
of Moses. The Song of the Lamb, again—that of the New Testament
Church—celebrated rather the wondrous "ways" of God—His justice, His truth,
His dreadful holiness, as manifested in the plan of redemption. And,
therefore, if the strains of the former befittingly be this, "Great and
marvelous are Your works, Lord God Almighty," no less appropriate and
beautiful are those of the latter, "Just and true are all Your ways, O King
of the ages; who shall not fear You, and glorify Your name? for You only are
holy."
First, then, let us hear these harpers sing the Song of
PROVIDENCE, "the Song of Moses, the servant of God." They delight, in other
words, to sing a song similar to that which Moses sang on the shores of the
Red Sea—the leading characteristic of which is the recognition and adoration
of God's sovereignty. It is worthy of special note, how strikingly, in all
their references to the exodus, the Hebrew psalmists and prophets love to
bring into bold prominence this grand feature of the personal agency,
foreknowledge, and power of Jehovah. "They went through the flood on foot;
then did we rejoice in Him." "He divided the sea, and caused them to pass
through, and He made the waters to stand as a heap. In the daytime, also, He
led them with a cloud, and all the night with a light of fire." "You rode
upon Your horses and Your chariots of salvation. You walked through the sea
with Your horses—through the heap of great waters."
And these are but the echoes of the original song
itself. "Your right hand, O God, has become glorious in power. Your right
hand, O Lord, has dashed in pieces the enemy. With the blast of Your
nostrils the waters were gathered together; the floods stood upright as a
heap. The enemy said, I will pursue, I will overtake, I will divide the
spoil. You blew with Your wind; the sea covered them, they sank as lead in
the mighty waters . . . The Lord shall reign forever and ever!" Oh! blessed
assurance for the Church of God in the midst of all tribulations, and
one we have found so often repeated in this closing Book of the sacred
Canon, that there is a personal will and a personal God enthroned behind
and above these apparently conflicting elements! The God of the olden
pillar-cloud is in the pillar-cloud still. Man proposes, but God
disposes.
It is for us, meanwhile, patiently to wait the
development of His plans; to take on trust these strains from the harpers
which we cannot understand until we ourselves join their ranks. Every
evolution in the great program is His, who presides alike over the counsels
of His Church and the destinies of the nations. It is He who now strengthens
and appoints the angels of judgment. It is His own mighty voice which gives
the commission, "Go your ways, and pour out the vials of the wrath of God
upon the earth." When that judicial errand was being accomplished, the
subsequent confession of one of these ministers of vengeance would
doubtless be that of all—"And I heard the angel of the waters say, 'You are
righteous, O Lord, who are, and were, and shall be, because You have judged
thus!" These glorious Beings, in the execution of their ministry, ask no
questions. It is JEHOVAH, the Lord God Almighty, the Just, and the True, and
the Holy—who has given them their mandates. With unswerving loyalty, forth
they go, panoplied in "pure and white linen, having their chests girded with
golden sashes."
And when their task is done—when the last vial has been
outpoured, and the Great Voice again comes out of the Temple of Heaven,
saying, "It is done"—when they return to their thrones to surrender their
trust, and lay the emptied vials at the feet of their great Lord—what is the
next entry of the recording spectator? "After these things I heard a voice
of much people in Heaven, saying, Alleluia! Salvation, and glory, and honor,
and power unto the Lord our God: for true and righteous are His judgments
. . . And I heard as it were the voice of a great multitude, and as the
voice of many waters,, and as the voice of mighty thunderings, saying,
Alleluia! for the Lord God Omnipotent reigns!"
Let us catch up the lofty echo of this Song of Moses—the
Song of Providence; the song sung—yes, and now being sung, on the
shores of glory! The Providence which sits enthroned over the Church
and the world presides over our individual destinies. Often
there may be profound mysteries in the Divine dealings, "deep may call to
deep." We may at times lose the footsteps of a God of love, and be led in
our bewilderment to exclaim, "Your way is in the sea, and Your path in the
deep waters, and Your judgments are not known." But there is a day coming
when the rectitude of His dealings and doings will be vindicated—when
the floods which now lift up their waves and make a mighty noise shall be
stilled into a glassy calm, mirroring nothing but the red, fire-like glory
of Justice, and Mercy, and Love; and when, not with the blare of the
trumpets of earthly warfare, but on the tuneful chords of Heaven's own
sweetest instrument, we shall sing with the harpers on the glassy sea—"The
Song of Moses, the Servant of God."
The Second theme of the twofold song is "The Song of THE
LAMB"—the Song of Grace and of Redemption. This is a louder, loftier,
sublimer strain. We have met it before, more than once, in the previous
figures, so that we have the less need to dwell on it here. In the
connection in which it stands in the present passage, we are forcibly
reminded of one of the most impressive incidents in the life of our
Incarnate Redeemer. Moses, the author of the Song of Providence, in company
with another illustrious fellow-harper from the glassy sea, came down to an
earthly mount to witness the Transfiguration of Him whose day they had both
seen afar off, and were glad. It was not, however, the theme of Providence
which then engrossed their thoughts, nor the Song of Providence which
thrilled on their lips. "They appeared in glory, and spoke of His death,
which He would accomplish at Jerusalem."
As if they would thereby proclaim, that the theme of
Redemption, the Song of the Lamb, is the sublime topic which fixes the
contemplation—tasks the immortal energies of the redeemed above—the blessed
bond of union linking together the varying dispensations—the legal,
the prophetical, the Gospel—the Church on earth and the Church
in Heaven. All other themes pale before it. All other works and designs of
Providence constellate around the Cross of Calvary, as the planets around a
central sun. No other theme, no other song, has any glory, by reason of this
glory which excels—Christ is all and in all! Not only of Him and
through Him, but "to Him are all things." Glorious indeed is the
Song of Creation—the song which the psalmist puts into the lips of
the starry heavens, as these spangled, glittering minstrels of the skies
declare the glory of God and show forth His handiwork—day unto day uttering
speech, and night unto night showing knowledge.
Glorious, too, was that Song of Moses on the Red
Sea shores. No greater or more signal earthly deliverance was ever
celebrated in poetry or music. It stands out by itself with peerless
grandeur, in annals sacred and profane. But, after all, what a feeble
type of that deliverance which is being now sung and celebrated by the
heavenly harpers!—a deliverance from the bondage of condemnation and
death!—as we look across the sea of Divine wrath, and behold our sins, like
the hosts of Pharaoh, sunk into its depths! Oh! sing unto the Lord a new
song, for He has done marvelous things! His right hand and His holy arm have
gotten Him the victory. Thanks, eternal thanks, be unto God, who gives us
the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ!
If the befitting utterance of Creation and
Providence be, "Great and marvelous are Your works, Lord God Almighty,"
Redemption, as it takes its stand by the Cross, and beholds the
meeting in blissful harmony of all the attributes of Jehovah—Truth
with Mercy, and Righteousness with Peace—has this song, too, peculiarly its
own, "Just and true are all Your ways, O King of the ages! who shall not
fear You, and glorify Your name? for You only are holy."
Let us sing that twofold blended song now, that we may
sing it forever. It is continually waxing louder. Well-known voices missed
on earth, add to the sublime harpings and melodies of the skies.
The host passing through the Red Sea of earthly trial is, age by age,
year by year, week by week, diminishing; the shores of glory are crowding
with ever-augmented numbers. Meanwhile, let the girded angels of judgment go
forth on their mission—and whether it be to pour the contents of their
incense-bowls on a desolated world—on rivers, and fountains, and sea, and
lights of heaven—amid predicted voices and thunderings, lightnings and
earthquake—the crash of falling cities and the wild paroxysms of affrighted
nature; or whether it be to carry these vials to individual homes and
hearths—we shall listen to the voice of Him who has given the mandate, "Go
your ways;" we shall hearken to the calm lullaby stealing down from the
harpers on the sea of glass, as they proclaim, amid all convulsions and all
changes, the sway alike of a God of Providence and Grace, and exhort
us to sing with them, even now, what will form the theme and anthem of
eternity, "The Song of Moses, the servant of God, and the song of the LAMB!"