In vv. 4-6 the record of the emotions caused by his peril follows. They begin with the natural gloom. As in Psalm cxlii. 3 (with which this has many points of resemblance, possibly indicating identity of author), he describes his "spirit" as swathed in dark robes of melancholy. His heart, too, the centre of personality, was _stunned_ or _benumbed_, so that it almost ceased to beat. What should a "servant" of Jehovah's, brought to such a pass, do? If he is truly God's, he will do precisely what this man did. He will compel his thoughts to take another direction, and call Memory in to fight Despair and feed Hope. His own past and God's past are arguments enough to cheer the most gloom-wrapped sufferer. "A sorrow's crown of sorrow" may be "remembering happier things," but the remembrance will be better used to discrown a sorrow which threatens to lord it over a life. Psalm lxxvii. 5, 6, 11, 12, has shaped the expressions here. Both the contrast of present misery with past mercy, and the assurances of present help given by that past mercy, move the psalmist to appeal to God, stretching out his hands in entreaty. Psalm lxiii. 1 echoes in ver. 6_b_, the pathos and beauty of which need no elucidation. The very cracks in parched ground are like mouths opened for the delaying rains; so the singer's soul was gaping wide in trouble for God's coming, which would refresh and fertilise. Blessed is that weariness which is directed to Him; it ever brings the showers of grace for which it longs. The construction of ver. 6_b_ is doubtful, and the supplement "thirsteth" (A.V. and R.V.) is possibly better than the "is" given above.
The second half of the psalm is purely petition. Vv. 7-9 ask especially for outward deliverance. They abound with reminiscences of earlier psalms. "Make haste, answer me" recalls Psalm lxix. 17; "my spirit faints" is like Psalm lxxxiv. 2; "Hide not Thy face from me" is a standing petition, as in Psalms xxvii. 9, cii. 2, etc.; "Lest I become like those who descend into the pit" is exactly reproduced from Psalm xxviii. 1. The prayer for the manifestation of God's loving-kindness in the morning is paralleled in Psalm xc. 14, and that for illumination as to the way to walk in is like Exod. xxxiii. 13; Psalm xxv. 4. The plea "To Thee do I lift my soul" is found in Psalms xxv. 1, lxxxvi. 4.
The plea appended to the petition in ver. 9_b_ is difficult. Literally, the words run, "To Thee have I covered [myself]," which can best be explained as a pregnant construction, equivalent to "I have fled to Thee and hid myself in Thee." Much divergence exists in the renderings of the clause. But a slight emendation, adopted by Hupfeld and Cheyne from an ancient Jewish commentator, reads the familiar expression, "I have fled for refuge." Baethgen prefers to read "have waited," which also requires but a trivial alteration; while Graetz reaches substantially the same result by another way, and would render "I have hope."
A glance at these three verses of petition as a whole brings out the sequence of the prayers and of their pleas. The deepest longing of the devout soul is for the shining of God's face, the consciousness of His loving regard, and that not only because it scatters fears and foes, but because it is good to bathe in that sunshine. The next longing is for the dawning of a glad morning, which will bring to a waiting heart sweet whispers of God's loving-kindness, as shown by outward deliverances. The night of fear has been dark and tearful, but joy comes with the morning. The next need is for guidance in the way in which a man should go, which here must be taken in the lower sense of practical direction, rather than in any higher meaning. That higher meaning follows in vv. 10-12; but in ver. 8 the suppliant asks to be shown the path by which he can secure deliverance from his foes. That deliverance is the last of his petitions. His pleas are beautiful as examples of the logic of supplication. He begins with his great need. His spirit faints, and he is on the edge of the black pit into which so much brightness and strength have gone down. The margin is slippery and crumbling; his feet are feeble. One Helper alone can hold him up. But his own exceeding need is not all that he pleads. He urges his trust, his fixing of his desires, hopes, and whole self, by a dead lift of faith, on God. That is a reason for Divine help. Anything is possible rather than that such hope should be disappointed. It cannot be that any man, who has fled for sanctuary to the asylum of God's heart, should be dragged thence and slain before the God whose altar he has vainly clasped.