PSALM XIX. 7-9 325
cisely the conception of poetry which Wordsworth overthrew. He renewed its seriousness ; he stripped it of poetic fiction ; he made us see nature as men who are being disciphned for eternity, who can allow themselves no idle dreams, being far too much in earnest to take the beauty of nature as the plaything of a passing hour — men who abhor shows and outward vanities, and who press through by strenuous patience into the deep heart of things. It was no rhetorician, no emotional sentimentalist, who found, in that primeval outlook over the things of the earth, the solidity of a revelation. It was in the service, in the solemn service, of modern duty that he sang in words that breathed the innermost spirit of the text —
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong! And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.^
^ I remember well my first visit to Chamounix. I had read of it, I had heard about it, and I had imagined it ; and now I can only say to you, that no vigour of imagination can paint in your mind a scene which is ineffably glorious, and which can be believed only by being seen. But before I got to Chamounix the sun went down, night came, and the shadows went stealing up the mountains till they drove the sun's golden feet from where they lingered on the highest peak. And then we came to the place, and we heard the wind moaning among the hills, and the sounds of mighty torrents that made one shudder. Here and there a feeble light in the darkness only made the scene more desolate and awful. You threaded your way at last into the hotel, and then with a sigh you said, " What did I come here for? It was a much better place at home." And seven hours passed by, and there came from heaven the glorious light, and the vapours and darkness vanished, and before me God's mighty and manifold works stood in all their beauty. The eyes saw what tongue cannot tell, and what the soul can never forget. The light revealed it all, it did not create it. God's great work was there, and the light had revealed it to me ; so that my ex- perience was that of the pilgrim at Bethel, Surely " this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven." 2
^ I asked the earth, and it answered me, " I am not He " ; and all the things that are in it confessed the same. I asked the sea and the depths, and the moving creatures, and they answered, " We are not thy God ; seek above us." I asked the air, and the whole air, with the inhabitants thereof, answered, " Anaximenes
^ H. Scott Holland. 2 q yince, The Unchanghtg Saviour, 168.
326 THE PERFECT LAW
was wrong ; I am not thy God." I asked the heavens, sun, moon, and stars. " Nor," say they, " are we the God whom thou seekest." And I replied unto all the things around, " Ye have told me of my God, that ye are not He : tell me something of Him." And they cried out with a loud voice, " He made us." ^
Not only in the Book
Is found God's word. But in the song of every brook
And every bird.
In sun and moon and star
His message shines ! The flowers that fleck the green fields are
His fragrant lines.
His whisper in the breeze.
And His the voice That bids the leaves upon the trees
Sing and rejoice.
Go forth, 0 soul! nor fear
Nor doubt, for He Shall make the ears of faith to hear —
The eyes to see.^
2. But the Psalmist turns his eyes in upon himself, and he finds another world — a world, too, of law, of certainty, of regularity, of order, no less than the world of Nature. Still here, too, the same harmonies hold good, the same successions move in appointed sequence; part answers to part, and every part to the whole. Here, too, all is sane, rational, secure, quiet, and sure, as the silent stars in the night ; this great work proceeds according to allotted precautions, by rule and measure and mind, punctual and precise as the sun moving out of his chamber in the morning. This higher order of life moves along the course set before it, and its laws never flag or fail ; no chance confuses it, and no unruly accident disturbs it. Man can count on these laws with the same absolute validity as that with which he counts on sunrise or on sunset. And what is this wonderful world that spreads away on every side to this ancient watcher of the skies ? What are these
* Augustine, Confessions, x. 9. - F. D. Sherman.
PSALM XIX. 7-9 327
undeviating laws which lay themselves alongside of those un- broken uniformities which govern the stars in their courses ? We know it is the world of consciousness, the world of the moral law, the world of the religious spirit, the world of the fear of the Lord.
^ As fire burns, as water runs, so the fear of the Lord holds on its way with undeviating certitude. Look up at the strong sun moving through its unalterable successions ! It cometh, we say, from the uttermost part of the earth, and runneth about unto the ends of the world, and there is nothing hid from the heat thereof. It is the very type of necessity. " Sure as the sun in the heavens, sure as the sun will rise to-morrow " — so we say. Just such is the law of the Lord, the law of the moral life. It works with the same relentless accuracy, with the same clearness, with the same persistence : nothing can hold it back or turn it aside, or hide it, or deny it, or escape it, or defy it. There |is nothing hid from the heat thereof. On and on it bears down upon us, and its light pierces, and embraces, and searches, and reveals ! We must stand in it ! The soul is laid bare under it, wrapped round by that dread heat which burns its way in ! Nothing can be hid ! Oh, the severity of such a searching fire ! Who can relieve the strain ? Who can soften the flame ? What may not we be proved to have done under such a scrutiny ! ^