Treasury of David

Charles Spurgeon


TITLE. To the Chief Musician, even to Jeduthun. Jeduthun's name, which signifies praising or celebrating, was a most appropriate one for a leader in sacred psalmody. He was one of those ordained by the King's order "for song in the house of the Lord with cymbals, psalteries, and harps" 1 Chronicles 15:6, and his children after him appear to have remained in the same hallowed service, even so late as the days of Nehemiah.

To have a name and a place in Zion is no small honor, and to hold this place by a long entail of grace is an unspeakable blessing. O that our household may never lack a man to stand before the Lord God of Israel to do him service.

David left this somewhat sorrowful ode in Jeduthun's hands because he thought him most fit to set it to music, or because he would distribute the sacred honor of song among all the musicians who in their turn presided in the choir.

A Psalm of David. Such as his chequered life would be sure to produce; fit effusions for a man so tempted, so strong in his passions, and yet so firm in faith.

DIVISION. The psalmist, bowed down with sickness and sorrow, is burdened with unbelieving thoughts, which he resolves to stifle, lest any evil should come from their expression, Verses 1-2.

But silence creates an insupportable grief, which at last demands utterance, and obtains it in the prayer of Verses 3-6, which is almost a complaint and a sigh for death, or at best a very desponding picture of human life.

From Verses 7-13 the tone is more submissive, and the recognition of the divine hand more distinct; the cloud has evidently passed, and the mourner's heart is relieved.


Verse 1. I said. I steadily resolved and registered a determination. In 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 needs watching, for it is as 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.

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 godly men are bewildered with skeptical 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 a contagious disease, there is no reason why I should spread it to my neighbors. 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 until I have a clean bill of health.

Verse 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 lack of vent. The pent up floods are 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 silent 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.

Verse 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; and eruption was imminent, the burning lava must pour forth in a fiery stream.

Then spoke I with my tongue. The original is grandly laconic. The muzzled tongue burst all its bonds. The gag was hurled away. Misery, like murder, will eventually come 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.

Verse 4. Show me O Lord. It is well that the vent of his soul was toward God and not towards man. Oh! if my swelling heart must speak, Lord let it speak with you. Even if there be too much of natural heat in what I say, you will be more patient with me than man, and upon your 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 Elijah in his agony, "Let me die, I am no better than my father"? 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 until death should put a finish to his woe.

Impatience would pry between the folded leaves of providence. As if there were no other comfort to be had, unbelief would gladly hide itself in the grave and sleep itself into oblivion. David was neither the first nor the last who have 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; 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 looking-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 gladly 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 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! As 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 until we are in a like position, and we shall do no better.

David's case is not recorded for our imitation, but for our learning.

Verse 5. Behold, you have 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 thoughts of life's shortness will bring the most acute 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 my age is as nothing before you. It is so short as not to amount to an entity. Think of eternity, and an angel is as a newborn 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.

Truly, 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 a man is but a mere breath—as unsubstantial as the wind.

Man is constant only in inconstancy. His vanity is his only best, of which he is vain, is but vain. This is truly 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.

Verse 6. Surely every man walks in a vain show. 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 travelers 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, he finds at the end that his labor is 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 clamor of the market, the hum of the exchange, the din of the city streets—and remember that all this noise, this breach of quiet—is made about unsubstantial, fleeting vanities. Broken rest, anxious fear, over-worked brain, failing mind, lunacy—these are the 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 heaps up riches, and knows 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 gardener. 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 followed 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, though riveted with a thousand bonds; everything 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.

Verse 7. And now, Lord, what do I wait 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 shout, "Boot and saddle, up and away."

My hope is in you. 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 fullness 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 today—yet surely before 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.

Verse 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 transgression but the blessed One who is called Jesus, because he saves his people from their sins. 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 allowed 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 gladly be preserved.

Verse 9. I was dumb, I opened not my mouth; because you did 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 you did it!" It is his right to do as he wills, and he always wills to do that which is wisest and kindest. Why then, should I then arraign his dealings? Nay, if it is indeed the Lord—then let him do what seems best unto him.

Verse 10. Remove your 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 your 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 perhaps 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.

Verse 11. You rebuke and 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!

You make 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 reveal 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 chastisements.

Surely every man is vanity. He is as Trapp wittily says "a curious picture of nothing." He is unsubstantial as his own breath, a vapor which appears for a little while, and then vanishes away.

Selah. Well may this truth bring us to a pause, like the dead body of Amasa, which, lying in the way, stopped the army of Joab.

Verse 12. Hear my prayer, O Lord. Drown not my pleadings with the sound of your strokes. You have heard the clamor of my sins, Lord—now 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.

Do not be deaf to my weeping. 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 before 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 you. Not to you, but with you. Like you, my Lord, a stranger among men whom you have created. God made the world, sustains it, and owns it, and yet men treat him as though he were a foreign intruder. As they treat the Master, so do they deal with the servants. "It is 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 world was not their rest; they passed through life in pilgrim guise, they used the world as travelers use an inn, and even so do I. Why should we dream of rest on earth, when our fathers' sepulchers 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.

Verse 13. O spare me. Lay aside your rod. Turn away your angry face from 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. It is 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!