Psalms 77:6

I call to remembrance my song in the night.

The song in the night

Among all those pains and pleasures which make up so large a part of every human lot, none are more real and more vivid than the pains and the pleasures of memory. Much that is sad, and tragic, and lamentable in the past would die but that it is kept alive in the memory, and much that is joyful and inspiring would perish out of life altogether but that it has become a property of the memory. There is not a little courage implied in this testimony of the psalmist: “I call to remembrance my song in the night”--for you cannot recall the song without recalling the night. And the song seems so slight a thing--some poor, thin, quavering notes that perhaps aimed to be melody and were not. But the night--that was vast and awful. Its gloom was absolute; its darkness a darkness that could be felt. It wrapped the spirit round until heaven and earth alike were lost, beauty a dream, and light a legend. That was the night upon which that trembling song broke; and into the depths of which it wandered. And to recall the song is to remember the night. It needs some courage deliberately to do that. There is something in this well worthy of our thought. There should be nothing in life we are afraid to recall. Even our sins should be so associated with memories of penitence and God’s pardoning mercy that there is room for the note of praise even out of so desolate a night as that. We are not really “more than conquerors” until we can dare to look steadily at the darkest dispensations of earth. The suggestion with some people is that they can only continue to believe by hiding some of their trials out of sight, and resolutely refusing to think of them. If this be so, the victory is surely against, them. Will you now take yet another point in our meditation? It was the night that made the song. Not entirely, of course, for have we not already seen that the song had been impossible but for a communication of the reality of the Divine love. But the fact remains that but for the night the song had not been what it was. He whose love-song is the eternal inspiration and solace of our race was the Man of Sorrows, and His life was a song in the night. (C. S. Horne, M. A.)

The song remembered in the night

He looked out of the bars of his window of darkness, and thought of the old light of bygone times. For there are times when the soul cannot sing, the heart cannot be glad. Yet even then the old days may be thought of. A man may get lap out of the darkness unto the light of another man’s window, and take comfort from that. So this is what this wise soul did. He goes to the window, he knows where it is, and looking out through the great darkness, he says--“I call to remembrance the days of old, the years of ancient times.” For, thank God, to-day’s darkness blots not out yesterday’s light, and in the depth of winter it is oftentimes pleasant to remember the summer glory: so the uses of darkness are sometimes to make men value the light. Now, this is the remedy. He called to mind olden days, and so by degrees the light came. He speaks most pathetic words. It is so dark, I cannot sing, I have nothing to say to Thee, O God, but I will call to remembrance the song I did sing once. And so the memory does what the heart could not do at the time; and even from this little beginning victory commences: “I call to remembrance my song in the night.” And the tongue, toe dumb to sing, still perhaps whispers to itself the old song; and there mark amongst many other things the uses of learning, and singing when you are glad, teaching songs; they get into the memory, and lie there till they are wanted. Now, in calling to remembrance the old song, he called to mind that he had once sung it. What had been may be; yesterday is as to-morrow; old summers foretell future summers; and therefore he says, “No light now; but there was light once, I will call that to remembrance.” But some of you may say that the very fact that you have known better days and know them not now, is a source of deeper trouble. Not at all. A thing that hath been may be. It is the very fact of the fickleness of the weather that gives us hope. It is now night, I call to remembrance the song I have sung in summer days I have seen sweet times of peace; they are gone now, they will come again. Ask me about next year’s swallows, I call to remembrance the swallows of the past. They have been, they are not now, but they will come again. Their being gone is the, warrant of their coming again. A man sometimes is disappointed, disheartened; somebody who has been a friend has deceived him, and he says, “There is no such thing as honesty,” and the man turns cynical, scornful, and denounces his fellows as being false. Think of the utter gloom that comes when a man has been thoroughly deceived. How hard it is to believe in the eleven, when the twelfth is a rogue. That is a terrible night for a man. But call to remembrance the song of the souls we have known that have loved us truly, purely, honestly, even to the end. Open the great book as the king did who could not sleep. Read of those who were true, think of all those you have known (now gone to rest), who were staunch, honest, and faithful; and though there is no song possible just now, yet “I call to remembrance my song in the night,” and the men that were a comfort are amongst the men that are. So, far away from the!and of his birth, a man, perhaps in exile, sits down in a foreign land, it may be Babylon, but he cannot sing there, his heart is sad, and his harp hangs on the willows; though it is all night, he can call to remembrance the song he used to sing at home. Though unable to sing (for it needs a glad heart to make a very merry tongue), he can do as those Jews did, who opened their windows and looked towards Jerusalem, that even if they could not see the wreath of the smoking sacrifice ascending upward, they could remember the time that had been, and so take comfort from that. It is good to sing, but the next best thing is to think of the time when you have sung; for through the words which the heart utters it will become quiet and calm. (G. Dawson, M. A.)

I commune with mine own heart; and my spirit made diligent search.

Man, “know thyself”!

Communion with ourselves! that is surely something very wonderful; and evidence enough of a sublime nature. “I commune with my own heart: and my spirit diligently explores her own hidden world.” Why, nothing in the whole compass of nature can do that. A wise man will surely say, “I am not going to analyze creatures who are lower than myself to know myself; but I must commune with myself, and make inquiry of the measureless capacities involved in my personal spirit.” Now, whoever thus searches into himself is constrained to search after the living God. Unless a man is under the influence and control of his inner and diviner nature he inevitably leads a life and acts a part which degrades and ruins him. God, the Father of his spirit, is infinitely averse to this, which He has most affectingly shown and proved by that great mystery of Love, God manifest in man’s flesh. Bethlehem, Calvary, and Mount Olivet simply mean God’s infinite concern for man’s redemption. If Christ’s Ascension does not signify the possibility of man’s ascension to God and the angel world, it signifies nothing. To be destitute of self-knowledge is, strictly speaking, to be destitute of all true and right knowledge. If we know not ourselves, nor the end of our being, we shall fall into many foolish and hurtful snares, and mistake the value of everything. We shall take appearances and sophistries for truth, and regard God’s truth as dreams. And worse than all, we shall misuse ourselves; thinking that we are wise when we are foolish, and that we are doing well when we are perishing. For we may take every possible care of the corruptible body of our flesh, while we are destroying the health and happiness of the precious inner man. Self-knowledge will inspire more than dignity and self-respect; it will inspire awe and a sublime hope. There will be no self-adulation in this knowledge; on the contrary, self-knowledge is always associated with sweet, restful, childlike humility. For right self-knowledge recognizes the Infinite Father-Spirit to be alone great and worshipful. We all share in Divinity; that is the one great human inheritance. To claim direct relationship to the Infinite Spirit is not presumptuous: “Our Father, which art in heaven.” And the one tremendous thought is that our Divine birthright is for eternity. The Everlasting Christ, as the ideal of our own humanity, is not only revealed to us; but the breath of His power is within us all. (John Pulsford, D. D.)

Self-companionship

Often reflect upon thyself, and observe what company is with thy heart. We may know by the noise in the school that the master is not there; much of the misrule in our bosom arises from the neglect of visiting our hearts. (W. Gurnall.)