{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_39941/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_39941","id":"gutenberg_39941","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39941","summary":null,"tags":["Bible. Lamentations -- Commentaries","Bible. Song of Solomon -- Commentaries","Category: Religion/Spirituality"],"text":"Produced by Marcia Brooks, Colin Bell, Julia Neufeld and\nthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian\nLibraries)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nText enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).\n\nSmall capital text has been replaced with all capitals.\n\n\n\n\n  THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE\n\n  EDITED BY THE REV.\n  W. ROBERTSON NICOLL, M.A., LL.D.\n  _Editor of \"The Expositor\"_\n\n  THE SONG OF SOLOMON\n  AND\n  THE LAMENTATIONS OF JEREMIAH\n\n  BY\n  WALTER F. ADENEY, M.A.\n\n  London\n  HODDER AND STOUGHTON\n  27, PATERNOSTER ROW\n\n  MDCCCXCV\n\n\n  THE SONG OF SOLOMON\n  AND THE\n  LAMENTATIONS OF JEREMIAH\n\n  BY\n  WALTER F. ADENEY, M.A.\n\n  PROFESSOR OF NEW TESTAMENT EXEGESIS, AND CHURCH HISTORY,\n  NEW COLLEGE LONDON\n\n  London\n  HODDER AND STOUGHTON\n  27, PATERNOSTER ROW\n\n  MDCCCXCV\n  _Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  _THE SONG OF SOLOMON_\n\n\n  CHAPTER I\n                                                   PAGE\n  THE STRUCTURE OF THE BOOK                           3\n\n\n  CHAPTER II\n\n  TRUE LOVE TESTED                                   15\n    i.-v. i.\n\n\n  CHAPTER III\n\n  LOVE UNQUENCHABLE                                  28\n    v. i-viii.\n\n\n  CHAPTER IV\n\n  MYSTICAL INTERPRETATIONS                           41\n\n\n  CHAPTER V\n\n  CANONICITY                                         53\n\n\n  _THE LAMENTATIONS OF JEREMIAH_\n\n\n  CHAPTER I\n\n  HEBREW ELEGIES                                     63\n\n\n  CHAPTER II\n\n  THE ORIGIN OF THE POEMS                            75\n\n\n  CHAPTER III\n\n  THE THEME                                          87\n\n\n  CHAPTER IV\n\n  DESOLATION                                         97\n    i. 1-7.\n\n\n  CHAPTER V\n\n  SIN AND SUFFERING                                 108\n    i. 8-11.\n\n\n  CHAPTER VI\n\n  ZION'S APPEAL                                     120\n    i. 12-22.\n\n\n  CHAPTER VII\n\n  GOD AS AN ENEMY                                   132\n    ii. 1-9.\n\n\n  CHAPTER VIII\n\n  THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN                           144\n    ii. 10-17.\n\n\n  CHAPTER IX\n\n  PROPHETS WITHOUT A VISION                         156\n    ii. 9, 14.\n\n\n  CHAPTER X\n\n  THE CALL TO PRAYER                                168\n    ii. 18-22.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XI\n\n  THE MAN THAT HATH SEEN AFFLICTION                 180\n    iii. 1-21.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XII\n\n  THE UNFAILING GOODNESS OF GOD                     194\n    iii. 22-24.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIII\n\n  QUIET WAITING                                     206\n    iii. 25-36.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIV\n\n  GOD AND EVIL                                      218\n    iii. 37-39.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XV\n\n  THE RETURN                                        230\n    iii. 40-42.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XVI\n\n  GRIEVING BEFORE GOD                               242\n    iii. 43-54.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XVII\n\n  _DE PROFUNDIS_                                    253\n     iii. 55-66.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XVIII\n\n  CONTRASTS                                         265\n    iv. 1-12.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XIX\n\n  LEPERS                                            277\n    iv. 13-16.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XX\n\n  VAIN HOPES                                        288\n    iv. 17-20.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXI\n\n  THE DEBT OF GUILT EXTINGUISHED                    300\n    iv. 21, 22.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXII\n\n  AN APPEAL FOR GOD'S COMPASSION                    311\n    v. 1-10.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXIII\n\n  SIN AND SHAME                                     324\n    v. 11-18.\n\n\n  CHAPTER XXIV\n\n  THE EVERLASTING THRONE                            335\n    v. 19-22.\n\n\n\n\n_THE SONG OF SOLOMON_\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n_THE STRUCTURE OF THE BOOK_\n\n\nThe Song of Solomon is a puzzle to the commentator. Quite apart from\nthe wilderness of mystical interpretations with which it has been\novergrown in the course of the ages,[1] its literary form and motive\nare subjects of endless controversy. There are indications that it is\na continuous poem; and yet it is characterised by startling\nkaleidoscopic changes that seem to break it up into incongruous\nfragments. If it is a single work the various sections of it succeed\none another in the most abrupt manner, without any connecting links or\nexplanatory clauses.\n\n  [1] To be considered later. See chap. iv.\n\nThe simplest way out of the difficulty presented by the many curious\nturns and changes of the poem is to deny it any structural unity, and\ntreat it as a string of independent lyrics. That is to cut the knot in\na rather disappointing fashion. Nevertheless the suggestion to do so\nmet with some favour when it was put forth at the close of the last\ncentury by Herder, a writer who seemed better able to enter into the\nspirit of Hebrew poetry than any of his contemporaries. While\naccepting the traditional view of the authorship of the book, this\ncritic described its contents as \"Solomon's songs of love, the oldest\nand sweetest of the East;\" and Goethe in the world of letters, as\nwell as biblical students, endorsed his judgment. Subsequently it fell\ninto disfavour, and scholars who differed among themselves with\nrespect to their own theories, agreed in rejecting this particular\nhypothesis. But quite recently it has reappeared in an altered form.\nThe book, it is now suggested, is just a chance collection of folk\nsongs from northern Palestine, an anthology of rustic love-poems.\nThese songs are denied any connection with Solomon or the court. The\nreferences to royalty are accounted for by a custom said to be kept up\namong the Syrian peasants in the present day, according to which the\nweek of wedding festivities is called \"The king's week,\" because the\nnewly-married pair then play the part of king and queen, and are\nplayfully treated by their friends with the honours of a court. The\nbridegroom is supposed to be named Solomon in acknowledgment of his\nregal splendour--as an English villager might be so named for his\nconspicuous wisdom; while perhaps the bride is called the Shulammite,\nwith an allusion to the famous beauty Abishag, the Shunammite of\nDavid's time.[2]\n\n  [2] 1 Kings i. 3.\n\nSuch a theory as this is only admissible on condition that the unity\nof the poem has been disproved. But whether we can unravel it or not,\nthere is much that goes to show that one thread runs through the whole\nbook. The style is the same throughout, and it has no parallel in the\nwhole of Hebrew literature. Everywhere we meet with the same rich,\nluxurious language, the same abundance of imagery, the same\npicturesque habit of alluding to a number of plants and animals by\nname, the same vivacity of movement, the same pleading tone, the same\nsuffused glow as of the light of morning. Then there are more peculiar\nfeatures that continually recur, such as the form of the dialogue,\ncertain recognisable characters, the part of chorus taken by the\ndaughters of Jerusalem, in particular the gentle, graceful portrait of\nthe Shulammite, the consistency of which is well preserved. But the\nprincipal reason for believing in the unity of the work is to be found\nin an examination of its plot. The difficulty of making this out has\nencouraged the temptation to discredit its existence. But while there\nare various ideas about the details, there is enough in common to all\nthe proposed schemes of the story to indicate the fact that the book\nis one composition.\n\nThe question whether the work is a drama or an idyl has been discussed\nwith much critical acumen. But is it not rather pedantic? The sharply\ndivided orders of European poetry were not observed or even known in\nIsrael. It was natural, therefore, that Hebrew imaginative work should\npartake of the characteristics of several orders, while too naive to\ntrouble itself with the rules of any one. The drama designed for\nacting was not cultivated by the ancient Jews. It was introduced as an\nexotic only as late as the Roman period, when Herod built the first\ntheatre known to have existed in the Holy Land. Previous to his time\nwe have no mention of the art of play-acting among the Jews.\nNevertheless the dialogues in the Song of Solomon are certainly\ndramatic in character; and we cannot call the poem an idyl when it is\nrendered entirely in the form of speeches by different persons without\nany connecting narrative. The Book of Job is also dramatic in form,\nthough, like Browning's dramatic poetry, not designed for acting; but\nin that work each of the several speakers is introduced by a sentence\nthat indicates who he is, while in our poem no such indication is\ngiven. Here we only get evidence of a change of speakers in the form\nand contents of the utterances, and the transition from the masculine\nto the feminine gender and from the singular number to the plural.\nEven the chorus takes an active part in the movement of the dialogue,\ninstead of simply commenting on the proceedings of the principal\ncharacters as in a Greek play. We seem to want a key to the story, and\nthe absence of anything of the kind is the occasion of the bewildering\nvariety of conjectures that confronts the reader. But the difficulty\nthus occasioned is no reason for denying that there is any continuity\nin the book, especially in view of numerous signs of unity that cannot\nbe evaded.\n\nAmong those who accept the dramatic integrity of the poem there are\ntwo distinct lines of interpretation, each of them admitting some\ndifferences in the treatment of detail. According to one scheme\nSolomon is the only lover; according to the other, while the king is\nseeking to win the affections of the country maiden, he has been\nforestalled by a shepherd, fidelity to whom is shewn by the Shulammite\nin spite of the fascinations of the court.\n\nThere is no denying the rural simplicity of much of the scenery;\nevidently this is designed to be in contrast to the sensuous luxury\nand splendour of the court. Those who take Solomon to be the one lover\nthroughout, not only admit this fact; they bring it into their version\nof the story so as to heighten the effect. The king is out\nholiday-making, perhaps on a hunting expedition, when he first meets\nthe country maiden. In her childlike simplicity she takes him for a\nrustic swain; or perhaps, though she knows who he is, she sportively\naddresses him as she would address one of her village companions.\nSubsequently she shews no liking for the pomp of royalty. She cannot\nmake herself at home with the women of the harem. She longs to be back\nin her mother's cottage among the woods and fields where she spent her\nchild days. But she loves the king and he dotes on her. So she would\ntake him with her away from the follies and temptations of the court\ndown to her quiet country retreat. Under the influence of the\nShulammite Solomon is induced to give up his unworthy habits and live\na healthier, purer life. Her love is strong enough to retain the king\nwholly to herself. Thus the poem is said to describe a reformation in\nthe character of Solomon. In particular it is thought to celebrate the\ntriumph of true love over the degradation of polygamy.\n\nIt is impossible to find any time in the life of David's successor\nwhen this great conversion might have taken place; and the occurrence\nitself is highly improbable. Those however are not fatal objections to\nthe proposed scheme, because the poem may be entirely ideal; it may\neven be written _at_ the king. Historical considerations need not\ntrouble us in dealing with an imaginative work such as this. It must\nbe judged entirely on internal grounds. But when it is so judged it\nrefuses to come into line with the interpretation suggested. Regarding\nthe matter only from a literary point of view, we must confess that it\nis most improbable that Solomon would be introduced as a simple\npeasant without any hint of the reason of his appearing in this novel\nguise. Then we may detect a difference between the manner in which the\nking addresses the Shulammite and that in which, on the second\nhypothesis, the shepherd speaks to her. Solomon's compliments are\nfrigid and stilted; they describe the object of his admiration in the\nmost extravagant terms, but they exhibit no trace of feeling. The\nheart of the voluptuary is withered, the fires of passion have burnt\nthemselves out and only the cold ashes remain, the sacred word \"love\"\nhas been so long desecrated that it has ceased to convey any meaning.\nOn the other hand, frequent practice has outstripped the clumsy wooing\nof inexperienced lovers and developed the art of courtship to a high\ndegree. The royal bird-catcher knows how to lay his lines, though\nfortunately for once even his consummate skill fails. How different is\nthe bearing of the true lover, a village lad who has won the maiden's\nheart! He has no need to resort to the vocabulary of flattery, because\nhis own heart speaks. The English translations give an unwarrantable\nappearance of warmth to the king's language where he is represented as\ncalling the Shulammite \"My love.\"[3] The word in the Hebrew means no\nmore than _my friend_. When Solomon first appears he addresses the\nShulammite with this title, and then immediately tries to tempt her by\npromising her presents of jewelry. Take another instance. In the\nbeginning of the fourth chapter Solomon enters on an elaborate series\nof compliments describing the beauty of the Shulammite, without a\nsingle word of affection. As she persists in withstanding his advances\nher persecutor becomes abashed. He shrinks from her pure, cold gaze,\ncalls her terrible as an army with banners, prays her to turn away her\neyes from him. On the theory that Solomon is the accepted lover, the\nbeloved bridegroom, this position is quite unintelligible. Now turn\nto the language of the true lover: \"Thou hast ravished my heart, my\nsister, my bride; thou hast ravished my heart with one look of thine\neyes.\"[4]\n\n  [3] i. 9.\n\n  [4] iv. 9.\n\nA corresponding difference is to be detected in the bearing of the\nmaiden towards the rivals. Towards the king she is cool and repellent;\nbut no dream of poetry can equal the tenderness and sweetness of her\nmusing on her absent lover or the warmth of love with which she speaks\nto him. These distinctions will be more apparent in detail as we\nproceed with the story of the poem. It may be noticed here, that this\nstory is not at all consistent with the theory that Solomon is the\nonly lover. According to that hypothesis we have the highly improbable\nsituation of a separation of the newly married couple on their wedding\nday. Besides, as the climax is supposed to be reached at the middle of\nthe book, there is no apparent motive for the second half. The modern\nnovel, which has its wedding at the middle of its plot, or even at the\nvery beginning, and then sets itself to develop the comedy or perhaps\nthe tragedy of married life, is not at all parallel to this old love\nstory. Time must be allowed for the development of matrimonial\ncomplications; but here the scenes are all in close connection.\n\nIf we are thus led to accept what has been called \"the shepherd\nhypothesis\" the value of the book will be considerably enhanced. This\nis more than a mere love poem; it is not to be classed with erotics,\nalthough a careless reading of some of its passages might incline us\nto place it in the same category with a purely sensuous style of\npoetry. We have here something more than Sappho's fire. If we are\ntempted to compare it with Herrick's _Hesperides_ or Shakespeare's\n_Sonnets_, we must recognise an element that lifts it above the sighs\nof love-sick youths and maidens. Even on the \"Solomon theory\" pure\nlove and simple living are exalted in opposition to the luxury and\nvices of the royal seraglio. A poem that sets forth the beauty of a\nsimple country life as the scene of the true love of husband and wife\nin contrast to the degradation of a corrupt court is distinctly\nelevating in tone and influence, and the more so for the fact that it\nis not didactic in form. It is not only in kings' palaces and amid\nscenes of oriental voluptuousness that the influence of such ideas as\nare here presented is needed. Christian civilisation has not\nprogressed beyond the condition in which the consideration of them may\nbe resorted to as a wholesome corrective. But if we are to agree to\nthe \"shepherd hypothesis\" as on the whole the more probable, another\nidea of highest importance emerges. It is not love, now, but fidelity,\nthat claims our attention. The simple girl, protected only by her\nvirtue, who is proof against all the fascinations of the most splendid\ncourt, and who prefers to be the wife of the poor man whom she loves,\nand to whom she has plighted troth, to accepting a queen's crown at\nthe cost of deserting her humble lover, is the type and example of a\nloyalty which is the more admirable because it appears where we should\nlittle expect to find it. It has been said that such a story as is\nhere depicted would be impossible in real life; that a girl once\nenticed into the harem of an oriental despot would never have a chance\nof escape. The eunuchs who guarded the doors would lose their heads if\nthey allowed her to run away; the king would never give up the prey\nthat had fallen into his trap; the shepherd lover who was mad enough\nto pursue his lost sweetheart into her captor's palace would never\ncome out alive. Are we so sure of all these points? Most improbable\nthings do happen. It is at least conceivable that even a cruel tyrant\nmight be seized with a fit of generosity, and why should we regard\nSolomon as a cruel tyrant? His fame implies that there were noble\ntraits in his character. But these questions are beside the mark. The\nsituation is wholly ideal. Then the more improbable the events\ndescribed would be in real life, the more impressive do the lessons\nthey suggest become.\n\nWho wrote the book? The only answer that can be given to this question\nis negative. Assuredly, Solomon could not have been the author of this\nlovely poem in praise of the love and fidelity of a country lass and\nher swain, and the simplicity of their rustic life. It would be\ndifficult to find a man in all history who more conspicuously\nillustrated the exact opposites of these ideas. The exquisite eulogy\nof love--perhaps the finest in any literature--which occurs towards\nthe end of the book, the passage beginning, \"Set me as a seal upon\nthine heart,\" etc.,[5] is not the work of this master of a huge\nseraglio, with his \"seven hundred wives\" and his \"three hundred\nconcubines.\"[6] It is impossible to find the source of this poetry in\nthe palace of the Israelite \"Grand Monarch\"; we might as soon light on\na bank of wild flowers in a Paris dancing saloon. There is quite a\nlibrary of Solomon literature, a very small part of which can be\ntraced to the king whose name it bears, the greatness of this name\nhaving attracted attention and led to the ascription of various works\nto the royal author, whose wisdom was as proverbial as his splendour.\nIt is difficult to resist the impression that in the present case\nthere is some irony in the singular inappropriateness of the title.\n\n  [5] viii. 6, 7.\n\n  [6] 1 Kings xi. 3.\n\nThe date of the poem can be conjectured with some degree of assurance,\nalthough the language does not help us much in the determination of\nthis point. There are archaisms, and there are also terms that seem to\nindicate a late date--Aramaic words and possibly even words of Greek\nextraction. The few foreign terms may have crept in under the\ninfluence of revisers. On the other hand the style and contents of the\nbook speak for the days of the Augustan age of Hebrew history. The\nnotoriety of Solomon's court and memories of its magnificence and\nluxury seem to be fresh in the minds of people. These things are\ntreated in detail and with an amount of freedom that supposes\nknowledge on the part of the readers as well as the writer. There is\none expression that helps to fix the date with more definiteness.\nTirzah is associated with Jerusalem as though the two cities were of\nequal importance. The king says:--\n\n  \"Thou art beautiful, O my love, as Tirzah,\n   Comely as Jerusalem.\"[7]\n\n  [7] vi. 4.\n\nNow this city was the northern capital for about fifty years after the\ndeath of Solomon--from the time of Jeroboam, who made it his royal\nresidence,[8] till the reign of Omri, who abandoned the ill-omened\nplace six years after his vanquished predecessor Zimri had burnt the\npalace over his own head.[9] The way in which the old capital is\nmentioned here implies that it is still to the north what Jerusalem is\nto the south. Thus we are brought to the half century after the death\nof the king whose name the book bears.\n\n  [8] 1 Kings xiv. 17.\n\n  [9] 1 Kings xvi. 18, 23, 24.\n\nThe mention of Tirzah as the equal of Jerusalem is also an evidence of\nthe northern origin of the poem; for it is not at all probable that a\nsubject of the mutilated nation of the south would describe the beauty\nof the rebel headquarters by the side of that of his own idolised\ncity, as something typical and perfect. But the poem throughout gives\nindications of its origin in the country parts of the north. Shunem,\nfamous as the scene of Elisha's great miracle, seems to be the home of\nthe heroine.[10] The poet turns to all points of the compass for\nimages with which to enrich his pictures--Sharon on the western\ncoast,[11] Gilead across the Jordan to the east,[12] Engedi by the\nwilderness of the Dead Sea,[13] as well as the northern districts. But\nthe north is most frequently mentioned. Lebanon is named over and over\nagain,[14] and Hermon is referred to as in the neighbourhood of the\nshepherd's home.[15] In fact the poem is saturated with the fragrant\natmosphere of the northern mountains.\n\n  [10] vi. 13.\n\n  [11] ii. 1.\n\n  [12] iv. 1.\n\n  [13] i. 14.\n\n  [14] iii. 9; iv. 8, 15; vii. 4.\n\n  [15] iv. 8.\n\nNow this has suggested a striking inference. Here we have a picture of\nSolomon and his court from the not too friendly hand of a citizen of\nthe revolted provinces. The history in the Books of Kings is written\nfrom the standpoint of Judah; it is curious to learn how the people of\nthe north thought of Solomon in all his glory. Thus considered the\nbook acquires a secondary and political meaning. It appears as a\nscornful condemnation of the court at Jerusalem on the part of the\npoorer and more simple inhabitants of the kingdom of Jeroboam and his\nsuccessors.[16] But it also stands for all time as a protest against\nluxury and vice, and as a testimony to the beauty and dignity of pure\nlove, stanch fidelity, and quiet, wholesome, primitive country\nmanners. It breathes the spirit that reappears in Goldsmith's\n_Deserted Village_, and inspires the muse of Wordsworth, as in the\npoem which contrasts the dove's simple notes with the nightingale's\ntumultuous song, saying of the homely bird,\n\n  \"He sang of love with quiet blending;\n   Slow to begin, and never ending;\n   Of serious faith and inward glee;\n   That was the song--the song for me.\"\n\n  [16] See _Ency. Brit._, Art. \"Canticles,\" by Robertson Smith.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n_TRUE LOVE TESTED_\n\nCHAPTER i.-v. 1\n\n\nThe poem opens with a scene in Solomon's palace. A country maiden has\njust been introduced to the royal harem. The situation is painful\nenough in itself, for the poor, shy girl is experiencing the miserable\nloneliness of finding herself in an unsympathetic crowd. But that is\nnot all. She is at once the object of general observation; every eye\nis turned towards her; and curiosity is only succeeded by\nill-concealed disgust. Still the slavish women, presumably acting on\ncommand, set themselves to excite the new comer's admiration for their\nlord and master. First one speaks some bold amorous words,[17] and\nthen the whole chorus follows.[18] All this is distressing and\nalarming to the captive, who calls on her absent lover to fetch her\naway from such an uncongenial scene; she longs to run after him; for\nit is the king who has brought her into his chambers, not her own\nwill.[19] The women of the harem take no notice of this interruption,\nbut finish their ode on the charms of Solomon. All the while they are\nstaring at the rustic maiden, and she now becomes conscious of a\ngrowing contempt in their looks. What is she that the attractions of\nthe king before which the dainty ladies of the court prostrate\nthemselves should have no fascination for her? She notices the\ncontrast between the swarthy hue of her sun-burnt countenance and the\npale complexion of these pampered products of palace seclusion. She is\nso dark in comparison with them that she likens herself to the black\ngoats-hair tents of the Arabs.[20] The explanation is that her\nbrothers have made her work in their vineyards. Meanwhile she has not\nkept her own vineyard.[21] She has not guarded her beauty as these\nidle women, who have nothing else to do, have guarded theirs; but\nperhaps she has a sadder thought--she could not protect herself when\nout alone at her task in the country or she would never have been\ncaptured and carried on to the prison where she now sits disconsolate.\nPossibly the vineyard she has not kept is the lover whom she has\nlost.[22] Still she is a woman, and with a touch of piqued pride she\nreminds her critics that if she is dark--black compared with them--she\nis comely. They cannot deny that. It is the cause of all her misery;\nshe owes her imprisonment to her beauty. She knows that their secret\nfeeling is one of envy of her, the latest favourite. Then their\naffected contempt is groundless. But, indeed, she has no desire to\nstand as their rival. She would gladly make her escape. She speaks in\na half soliloquy. Will not somebody tell her where he is whom her soul\nloveth? Where is her lost shepherd lad? Where is he feeding his flock?\nWhere is he resting it at noon? Such questions only provoke mockery.\nAddressing the simple girl as the \"fairest among women,\" the court\nladies bid her find her lover for herself. Let her go back to her\ncountry life and feed her kids by the shepherds' tents. Doubtless if\nshe is bold enough to court her swain in that way she will not miss\nseeing him.\n\n  [17] i. 2.\n\n  [18] i. 3.\n\n  [19] i. 4.\n\n  [20] i. 5.\n\n  [21] i. 6.\n\n  [22] See viii. 12.\n\nHitherto Solomon has not appeared. Now he comes on the scene, and\nproceeds to accost his new acquisition in highly complimentary\nlanguage, with the ease of an expert in the art of courtship. At this\npoint we encounter the most serious difficulty for the theory of a\nshepherd lover. To all appearances a dialogue between the king and the\nShulammite here ensues.[23] But if this were the case, the country\ngirl would be addressing Solomon in terms of the utmost\nendearment--conduct utterly incompatible with the \"shepherd\nhypothesis.\" The only alternative is to suppose that the hard-pressed\ngirl takes refuge from the importunity of her royal flatterer by\nturning aside to an imaginary, half dream-like conversation with her\nabsent lover. This is not by any means a probable position, it must be\nallowed; it seems to put a strained interpretation on the text.\nUndoubtedly if the passage before us stood by itself, there would not\nbe any difference of opinion about it; everybody would take it in its\nobvious meaning as a conversation between two lovers. But it does not\nstand by itself--unless, indeed, we are to give up the unity of the\nbook. Therefore it must be interpreted so as not to contradict the\nwhole course of the poem, which shews that another than Solomon is the\ntrue lover of the disconsolate maiden.\n\n  [23] i. 9--ii. 6.\n\nThe king begins with the familiar device by which rich men all the\nworld over try to win the confidence of poor girls when there is no\nlove on either side,--a device which has been only too successful in\nthe case of many a weak Marguerite though her tempter has not always\nbeen a handsome Faust; but in the present case innocence is fortified\nby true love, and the trick is a failure. The king notices that this\npeasant girl has but simple plaited hair and homely ornaments. She\nshall have plaits of gold and studs of silver! Splendid as one of\nPharaoh's chariot horses, she shall be decorated as magnificently as\nthey are decorated! What is this to our stanch heroine? She treats it\nwith absolute indifference, and begins to soliloquise, with a touch of\nscorn in her language. She has been loaded with scent after the manner\nof the luxurious court, and the king while seated feasting at his\ntable has caught the odour of the rich perfumes. That is why he is now\nby her side. Does he think that she will serve as a new dainty for the\ngreat banquet, as a fresh fillip for the jaded appetite of the royal\nvoluptuary? If so he is much mistaken. The king's promises have no\nattraction for her, and she turns for relief to dear memories of her\ntrue love. The thought of him is fragrant as the bundle of myrrh she\ncarries in her bosom, as the henna-flowers that bloom in the vineyards\nof far-off Engedi.\n\nClearly Solomon has made a clumsy move. This shy bird is not of the\ncommon species with which he is familiar. He must aim higher if he\nwould bring down his quarry. She is not to be classed with the wares\nof the matrimonial market that are only waiting to be assigned to the\nrichest bidder. She cannot be bought even by the wealth of a king's\ntreasury. But if there is a woman who can resist the charms of finery,\nis there one who can stand against the admiration of her personal\nbeauty? A man of Solomon's experience would scarcely believe that such\nwas to be found. Nevertheless now the sex he estimates too lightly is\nto be vindicated, while the king himself is to be taught a wholesome\nlesson. He may call her fair; he may praise her dove-like eyes.[24]\nHis flattery is lost upon her. She only thinks of the beauty of her\nshepherd lad, and pictures to herself the green bank on which they\nused to sit, with the cedars and firs for the beams and roof of their\ntrysting-place.[25] Her language carries us away from the gilded\nsplendour and close, perfumed atmosphere of the royal palace to scenes\nsuch as Shakespeare presents in the forest of Arden and the haunts of\nTitania, and Milton in the Mask of _Comus_. Here is a Hebrew lady\nlonging to escape from the clutches of one who for all his glory is\nnot without some of the offensive traits of the monster Comus. She\nthinks of herself as a wild flower, like the crocus that grows on the\nplains of Sharon or the lily (literally the anemone) that is sprinkled\nso freely over the upland valleys.[26] The open country is the natural\n_habitat_ of such a plant, not the stifling court. Solomon catches at\nher beautiful imagery. Compared with other maidens she is like a lily\namong thorns.[27]\n\n  [24] i. 15.\n\n  [25] i. 16, 17.\n\n  [26] ii. 1.\n\n  [27] ii. 2.\n\nAnd now these scenes of nature carry the persecuted girl away in a\nsort of reverie. If she is like the tender flower, her lover resembles\nthe apple tree at the foot of which it nestles, a tree the shadow of\nwhich is delightful and its fruit sweet.[28] She remembers how he\nbrought her to his banqueting house; that rustic bower was a very\ndifferent place from the grand divan on which she had seen Solomon\nsitting at his table. No purple hangings like those of the king's\npalace there screened her from the sun. The only banner her shepherd\ncould spread over her was love, his own love.[29] But what could be a\nmore perfect shelter?\n\n  [28] ii. 3.\n\n  [29] ii. 4.\n\nShe is fainting. How she longs for her lover to comfort her! She has\njust compared him to an apple tree; now the refreshment she hungers\nfor is the fruit of this tree; that is to say, his love.[30] Oh that\nhe would put his arms round her and support her, as in the old happy\ndays before she had been snatched away from him![31]\n\n  [30] ii. 5.\n\n  [31] ii. 6.\n\nNext follows a verse which is repeated later, and so serves as a sort\nof refrain.[32] The Shulammite adjures the daughters of Jerusalem not\nto awaken love. This verse is misrendered in the Authorised Version,\nwhich inserts the pronoun \"my\" before \"love\" without any warrant in\nthe Hebrew text. The poor girl has spoken of apples. But the court\nladies must not misunderstand her. She wants none of their love\napples,[33] no philtre, no charm to turn her affections away from her\nshepherd lover and pervert them to the importunate royal suitor. The\nopening words of the poem which celebrated the charms of Solomon had\nbeen aimed in that direction. The motive of the work seems to be the\nShulammite's resistance to various attempts to move her from loyalty\nto her true love. It is natural, therefore, that an appeal to desist\nfrom all such attempts should come out emphatically.\n\n  [32] ii. 7.\n\n  [33] See Gen. xxx. 14.\n\nThe poem takes a new turn. In imagination the Shulammite hears the\nvoice of her beloved. She pictures him standing at the foot of the\nlofty rock on which the harem is built, and crying,--\n\n  \"Oh, my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the cover\n        of the steep place,\n  Let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice;\n  For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.\"[34]\n\n  [34] ii. 14.\n\nHe is like a troubadour singing to his imprisoned lady-love; and she,\nin her soliloquys, though not by any means a \"high-born maiden,\" may\ncall to mind the simile in Shelley's _Skylark_:--\n\n                \"Like a high-born maiden\n                  In a palace tower,\n                Soothing her love-laden\n                  Soul in secret hour,\n  With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower.\"\n\nShe remembers how her lover had come to her bounding over the hills\n\"like a roe or a young hart,\"[35] and peeping in at her lattice; and\nshe repeats the song with which he had called her out--one of the\nsweetest songs of spring that ever was sung.[36] In our own green\nisland we acknowledge that this is the most beautiful season of all\nthe round year; but in Palestine it stands out in more strongly\npronounced contrast to the three other seasons, and it is in itself\nexceedingly lovely. While summer and autumn are there parched with\ndrought, barren and desolate, and while winter is often dreary with\nsnow-storms and floods of rain, in spring the whole land is one lovely\ngarden, ablaze with richest hues, hill and dale, wilderness and\nfarmland vying in the luxuriance of their wild flowers, from the red\nanemone that fires the steep sides of the mountains to the purple and\nwhite cyclamen that nestles among the rocks at their feet. Much of the\nbeauty of this poem is found in the fact that it is pervaded by the\nspirit of an eastern spring. This makes it possible to introduce a\nwealth of beautiful imagery which would not have been appropriate if\nany other season had been chosen. Even more lovely in March than\nEngland is in May, Palestine comes nearest to the appearance of our\ncountry in the former month; so that this poem, that is so completely\nbathed in the atmosphere of early spring, calls up echoes of the\nexquisite English garden pictures in Shelley's _Sensitive Plant_ and\nTennyson's _Maud_. But it is not only beauty of imagery that our poet\ngains by setting his work in this lovely season. His ideas are all in\nharmony with the period of the year he describes so charmingly. It is\nthe time of youth and hope, of joy and love--especially of love, for,\n\n  \"In the spring a young man's fancy\n  Lightly turns to thoughts of love.\"\n\n  [35] ii. 9.\n\n  [36] ii. 11-13.\n\nThere is even a deeper association between the ideas of the poem and\nthe season in which it is set. None of the freshness of spring is to\nbe found about Solomon and his harem, but it is all present in the\nShulammite and her shepherd; and spring scenes and thoughts powerfully\naid the motive of the poem in accentuating the contrast between the\ntawdry magnificence of the court and the pure, simple beauty of the\ncountry life to which the heroine of the poem clings so faithfully.\n\nThe Shulammite answers her lover in an old ditty about \"the little\nfoxes that spoil the vineyards.\"[37] He would recognise that, and so\ndiscover her presence. We are reminded of the legend of Richard's page\nfinding his master by singing a familiar ballad outside the walls of\nthe castle in the Tyrol where the captive crusader was imprisoned.\nThis is all imaginary. And yet the faithful girl knows in her heart\nthat her beloved is hers and that she is his, although in sober\nreality he is now feeding his flocks in the far-off flowery fields of\nher old home.[38] There he must remain till the cool of the evening,\ntill the shadows melt into the darkness of night, when she would fain\nhe returned to her, coming over the rugged mountains \"like a roe or a\nyoung hart.\"[39]\n\n  [37] ii. 15.\n\n  [38] ii. 16.\n\n  [39] ii. 17.\n\nNow the Shulammite tells a painful dream.[40] She dreamed that she had\nlost her lover, and that she rose up at night and went out into the\nstreets seeking him. At first she failed to find him. She asked the\nwatchmen whom she met on their round, if they had seen him whom her\nsoul loved. They could not help her quest. But a little while after\nleaving them she discovered the missing lover, and brought him safely\ninto her mother's house.\n\n  [40] iii. 1-4.\n\nAfter a repetition of the warning to the daughters of Jerusalem not to\nawaken love,[41] we are introduced to a new scene.[42] It is by one of\nthe gates of Jerusalem, where the country maiden has been brought in\norder that she may be impressed by the gorgeous spectacle of Solomon\nreturning from a royal progress. The king comes up from the wilderness\nin clouds of perfume, guarded by sixty men-at-arms, and borne in a\nmagnificent palanquin of cedar-wood, with silver posts, a floor of\ngold, and purple cushions, wearing on his head the crown with which\nhis mother had crowned him. Is the mention of the mother of Solomon\nintended to be specially significant? Remember--she was Bathsheba!\nThe allusion to such a woman would not be likely to conciliate the\npure young girl who was not in the least degree moved by this attempt\nto charm her with a scene of exceptional magnificence.\n\n  [41] iii. 5.\n\n  [42] iii. 6-11\n\nSolomon now appears again, praising his captive in extravagant\nlanguage of courtly flattery. He praises her dove-like eyes, her\nvoluminous black hair, her rosy lips, her noble brow (not even\ndisguised by her veil), her towering neck, her tender bosom--lovely as\ntwin gazelles that feed among the lilies. Like her lover, who is\nnecessarily away with his flock, Solomon will leave her till the cool\nof the evening, till the shadows melt into night; but he has no\npastoral duties to attend to, and though the delicate balancing and\nassimilation of phrase and idea is gracefully manipulated, there is a\nchange. The king will go to \"mountains of myrrh\" and \"hills of\nfrankincense,\"[43] to make his person more fragrant, and so, as he\nhopes, more welcome.\n\n  [43] iv. 6.\n\nIf we adopt the \"shepherd hypothesis\" the next section of the poem\nmust be assigned to the rustic lover.[44] It is difficult to believe\nthat this peasant would be allowed to speak to a lady in the royal\nharem. We might suppose that here and perhaps also in the earlier\nscene the shepherd is represented as actually present at the foot of\nthe rock on which the palace stands. Otherwise this also must be taken\nas an imaginary scene, or as a reminiscence of the dreamy girl.\nAlthough a thread of unity runs through the whole poem, Goethe was\nclearly correct in calling it \"a medley.\" Scenes real and imaginary\nmelting one into another cannot take their places in a regular drama.\nBut when we grant full liberty to the imaginary element there is less\nnecessity to ask what is subjective and what objective, what only\nfancied by the Shulammite and what intended to be taken as an actual\noccurrence. Strictly speaking, nothing is actual; the whole poem is a\nhighly imaginative series of fancy pictures illustrating the\ndevelopment of its leading ideas.\n\n  [44] iv. 8-15.\n\nNext--whether we take it as in imagination or in fact--the shepherd\nlover calls his bride to follow him from the most remote regions. His\nlanguage is entirely different from that of the magnificent monarch.\nHe does not waste his breath in formal compliments, high-flown\nimagery, wearisome lists of the charms of the girl he loves. That was\nthe clumsy method of the king; clumsy, though reflecting the finished\nmanners of the court, in comparison with the genuine outpourings of\nthe heart of a country lad. The shepherd is eloquent with the\ninspiration of true love; his words throb and glow with genuine\nemotion; there is a fine, wholesome passion in them. The love of his\nbride has ravished his heart. How beautiful is her love! He is\nintoxicated with it more than with wine. How sweet are her words of\ntender affection, like milk and honey! She is so pure, there is\nsomething sisterly in her love with all its warmth. And she is so near\nto him that she is almost like part of himself, as his own sister.\nThis holy and close relationship is in startling contrast to the only\nthing known as love in the royal harem. It is as much more lofty and\nnoble as it is more strong and deep than the jaded emotions of the\ncourt. The sweet pure maiden is to the shepherd like a garden the gate\nof which is barred against trespassers, like a spring shut off from\ncasual access, like a sealed fountain--sealed to all but one, and,\nhappy man, he is that one. To him she belongs, to him alone. She is a\ngarden, yes, a most fragrant garden, an orchard of pomegranates full\nof rich fruit, crowded with sweet-scented plants--henna and spikenard\nand saffron, calamus and cinnamon and all kinds of frankincense, myrrh\nand aloes and the best of spices. She is a fountain in the garden,\nsealed to all others, but not stinted towards the one she loves. To\nhim she is as a well of living waters, like the full-fed streams that\nflow from Lebanon.\n\nThe maiden is supposed to hear the song of love. She replies in\nfearless words of welcome, bidding the north wind awake, and the south\nwind too, that the fragrance of which her lover has spoken so\nenthusiastically may flow out more richly than ever. For his sake she\nwould be more sweet and loving. All she possesses is for him. Let him\ncome and take possession of his own.[45]\n\n  [45] iv. 16.\n\nWhat lover could turn aside from such a rapturous invitation? The\nshepherd takes his bride; he enters his garden, gathers his myrrh and\nspice, eats his honey and drinks his wine and milk, and calls on his\nfriends to feast and drink with him.[46] This seems to point to the\nmarriage of the couple and their wedding feast; a view of the passage\nwhich interpreters who regard Solomon as the lover throughout for the\nmost part take, but one which has this fatal objection, that it leaves\nthe second half of the poem without a motive. On the hypothesis of the\nshepherd lover it is still more difficult to suppose the wedding to\nhave occurred at the point we have now reached, for the distraction\nof the royal courtship still proceeds in subsequent passages of the\npoem. It would seem, then, that we must regard this as quite an ideal\nscene. It may, however, be taken as a reminiscence of an earlier\npassage in the lives of the two lovers. It is not impossible that it\nrefers to their wedding, and that they had been married before the\naction of the whole story began. In that case we should have to\nsuppose that Solomon's officers had carried off a young bride to the\nroyal harem. The intensity of the love and the bitterness of the\nseparation apparent throughout the poem would be the more intelligible\nif this were the situation. It is to be remembered that Shakespeare\nascribes the climax of the love and grief of Romeo and Juliet to a\ntime after their marriage. But the difficulty of accepting this view\nlies in the improbability that so outrageous a crime would be\nattributed to Solomon, although it must be admitted that the guilty\nconduct of his father and mother had gone a long way in setting an\nexample for the violation of the marriage tie. In dealing with vague\nand dreamy poetry such as that of the Song of Solomon, it is not\npossible to determine a point like this with precision; nor is it\nnecessary to do so. The beauty and force of the passage now before us\ncentre in the perfect mutual love of the two young hearts that here\nshow themselves to be knit together as one, whether already actually\nmarried or not yet thus externally united.\n\n  [46] v. 1.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n_LOVE UNQUENCHABLE_\n\nCHAPTER v. 1-viii\n\n\nWe have seen how this strange poem mingles fact and fancy, memory and\nreverie, in what would be hopeless confusion if we could not detect a\ncommon prevailing sentiment and one aim towards which the whole is\ntending, with all its rapidly shifting scenes and all its perplexingly\nvarying movements. The middle of the poem attains a perfect climax of\nlove and rapture. Then we are suddenly transported to an entirely\ndifferent scene. The Shulammite recites a second dream, which somewhat\nresembles her former dream, but is more vivid and intense, and ends\nvery painfully.[47] The circumstances of it will agree most readily\nwith the idea that she is already married to the shepherd. Again it is\na dream of the loss of her lover, and of her search for him by night\nin the streets of Jerusalem. But in the present case he was first\nclose to her, and then he deserted her most unaccountably; and when\nshe went to look for him this time she failed to find him, and met\nwith cruel ill-treatment. In her dream she fancies she hears the\nbridegroom knocking at her chamber door and calling upon her as his\nsister, his love, his dove, his undefiled, to open to him. He has\njust returned from tending his flock in the night, and his hair is wet\nwith the dew. The bride coyly excuses herself, on the plea that she\nhas laid aside her mantle and washed her feet; as though it would vex\nher to put her feet to the ground again. This is but the playful\nreluctance of love; for no sooner is her beloved really lost than she\nundertakes the greatest trouble in the search for him. When he puts in\nhis hand to lift the latch, her heart is moved towards him, and she\nrises to open the door. On touching the lock she finds it covered with\nliquid myrrh. It has been ingeniously suggested that we have here a\nreference to the construction of an eastern lock, with a wooden pin\ndropped into the bolt, which is intended to be lifted by a key, but\nwhich may be raised by a man's finger if he is provided with some\nviscid substance, such as the ointment here mentioned, to adhere to\nthe pin. The little detail shews that the lover or bridegroom had come\nwith the deliberate intention of entering. How strange, then, that\nwhen the bride opens the door he is not to be seen! Why has he fled?\nThe shock of this surprise quite overwhelms the poor girl, and she is\non the point of fainting. She looks about for her vanished lover, and\ncalls him by name; but there is no answer. She goes out to seek for\nhim in the streets, and there the watchmen cuff and bruise her, and\nthe sentry on the city walls rudely tear off her veil.\n\n  [47] v. 2-7.\n\nReturning from the distressing recollection of her dream to the\npresent condition of affairs, the sorrowful Shulammite adjures the\ndaughters of Jerusalem to tell her if they have found her love.[48]\nThey respond by asking, what is her beloved more than any other\nbeloved?[49] This mocking question of the harem women rouses the\nShulammite, and affords an opportunity for descanting on the beauty of\nher love.[50] He is both fair and ruddy, the chiefest among ten\nthousand. For this is what he is like: a head splendid as finest gold;\nmassive, curling, raven locks; eyes like doves by water brooks, and\nlooking as though they had been washed in milk--an elaborate image in\nwhich the soft iris and the sparkling light on the pupils suggest the\npicture of the gentle birds brooding on the bank of a flashing stream,\nand the pure, healthy eyeballs a thought of the whiteness of milk;\ncheeks fragrant as spices; lips red as lilies (the blood-red\nanemones); a body like ivory, with blue veins as of sapphire; legs\nlike marble columns on golden bases. The aspect of him is like great\nLebanon, splendid as the far-famed cedars; and when he opens his lips\nhis voice is ravishingly sweet. Yes, he is altogether lovely. Such is\nher beloved, her dearest one.\n\n  [48] v. 8.\n\n  [49] v. 9.\n\n  [50] v. 10-16.\n\nThe mocking ladies ask their victim where then has this paragon\ngone?[51] She would have them understand that he has not been so cruel\nas really to desert her. It was only in her dream that he treated her\nwith such unaccountable fickleness. The plain fact is that he is away\nat his work on his far-off farm, feeding his flock, and perhaps\ngathering a posy of flowers for his bride.[52] He is far away,--that\nsad truth cannot be denied; and yet he is not really lost, for love\nlaughs at time and distance; the poor lonely girl can say still that\nshe is her beloved's and that he is hers.[53] The reappearance of this\nphrase suggests that it is intended to serve as a sort of refrain.\nThus it comes in with admirable fitness to balance the other refrain\nto which reference has been made earlier.[54] In the first refrain the\ndaughters of Jerusalem are besought not to attempt to awaken the\nShulammite's love for Solomon; this is well balanced by the refrain in\nwhich she declares the constancy of the mutual love that exists\nbetween herself and the shepherd.\n\n  [51] vi. 1.\n\n  [52] vi. 2.\n\n  [53] vi. 3.\n\n  [54] Page 20.\n\nNow Solomon reappears on the scene, and resumes his laudation of the\nShulammite's beauty.[55] But there is a marked change in his manner.\nThis most recent capture is quite unlike the sort of girls with whom\nhis harem was stocked from time to time. He had no reverence for any\nof them; they all considered themselves to be highly honoured by his\nfavour, all adored him with slavish admiration, like that expressed by\none of them in the first line of the poem. But he is positively afraid\nof the Shulammite. She is \"terrible as an army with banners.\" He\ncannot bear to look at her eyes; he begs her to turn them away from\nhim, for they have overcome him. What is the meaning of this new\nattitude on the part of the mighty monarch? There is something awful\nin the simple peasant girl. The purity, the constancy, the cold scorn\nwith which she regards the king, are as humiliating as they are novel\nin his experience. Yet it is well for him that he is susceptible to\ntheir influence. He is greatly injured and corrupted by the manners of\na luxurious oriental court. But he is not a seared profligate. The\nvision of goodness startles him; then there is a better nature in him,\nand its slumbering powers are partly roused by this unexpected\napparition.\n\n  [55] vi. 4-7.\n\nWe have now reached a very important point in the poem. It is almost\nimpossible to reconcile this with the theory that Solomon is the one\nand only lover referred to throughout. But on the \"shepherd\nhypothesis\" the position is most significant. The value of constancy\nin love is not only seen in the steadfast character of one who is\nsorely tempted to yield to other influences; it is also apparent in\nthe effects on a spectator of so uncongenial a nature as king Solomon.\nThus the poet brings out the great idea of his work most vividly. He\ncould not have done so more forcibly than by choosing the court of\nSolomon for the scene of the trial, and shewing the startling effect\nof the noble virtue of constancy on the king himself.\n\nHere we are face to face with one of the rescuing influences of life,\nwhich may be met in various forms. A true woman, an innocent child, a\npure man, coming across the path of one who has permitted himself to\nslide down towards murky depths, arrests his attention with a painful\nshock of surprise. The result is a revelation to him, in the light of\nwhich he discovers, to his horror, how far he has fallen. It is a sort\nof incarnate conscience warning him of the still lower degradation\ntowards which he is sinking. Perhaps it strikes him as a beacon light,\nshewing the path up to purity and peace; an angel from heaven sent to\nhelp him retrace his steps and return to his better self. Few men are\nso abandoned as never to be visited by some such gleam from higher\nregions. To many, alas, it comes but as the temporary rift in the\nclouds through which for one brief moment the blue sky becomes visible\neven on a wild and stormy day, soon to be lost in deeper darkness.\nHappy are they who obey its unexpected message.\n\nThe concluding words of the passage which opens with Solomon's praises\nof the Shulammite present another of the many difficulties with which\nthe poem abounds. Mention is made of Solomon's sixty queens, his\neighty concubines, his maidens without number; and then the Shulammite\nis contrasted with this vast seraglio as \"My dove, my undefiled,\" who\nis \"but one\"--\"the only one of her mother.\"[56] Who is speaking here?\nIf this is a continuation of Solomon's speech, as the flow of the\nverses would suggest, it must mean that the king would set his newest\nacquisition quite apart from all the ladies of the harem, as his\nchoice and treasured bride. Those who regard Solomon as the lover,\nthink they see here what they call his conversion, that is to say, his\nturning away from polygamy to monogamy. History knows of no such\nconversion; and it is hardly likely that a poet of the northern\nkingdom would go out of his way to whitewash the matrimonial\nreputation of a sovereign from whom the house of Judah was descended.\nBesides, the occurrence here represented bears a very dubious\ncharacter when we consider that all the existing denizens of the harem\nwere to be put aside in favour of a new beauty. It would have been\nmore like a genuine conversion if Solomon had gone back to the love of\nhis youth, and confined his affections to his neglected first wife.\n\n  [56] vi. 8, 9.\n\nOn the shepherd hypothesis it is most natural to attribute the passage\nto the shepherd himself. But since it is difficult to imagine him\npresent at this scene between Solomon and the Shulammite, it seems\nthat we must fall back on the idealising character of the poem. In\nthis figurative way the true lover expresses his contempt for the\nmonstrous harem at the palace. He is content with his one ewe lamb;\nnay, she is more to him than all Solomon's bevy of beauties; even\nthese ladies of the court are now constrained to praise the noble\nqualities of his bride.\n\nSolomon's expression of awe for the terrible purity and constancy of\nthe Shulammite is repeated,[57] and then she tells the story of her\ncapture.[58] She had gone down to the nut garden to look at the fresh\ngreen on the plants, and to see whether the vines were budding and the\npomegranates putting forth their lovely scarlet blossoms, when\nsuddenly, and all unawares, she was pounced upon by the king's people\nand whisked away in one of his chariots. It is a vivid scene, and,\nlike other scenes in this poem, the background of it is the lovely\naspect of nature in early spring.\n\n  [57] vi. 10.\n\n  [58] Vers. 11, 12.\n\nThe Shulammite now seems to be attempting a retreat, and the ladies of\nthe court bid her return; they would see the performance of a\nfavourite dance, known as \"The Dance of Mahanaim.\"[59] Thereupon we\nhave a description of the performer, as she was seen during the\nconvolutions of the dance, dressed in a transparent garment of red\ngauze,--perhaps such as is represented in Pompeian frescoes,--so that\nher person could be compared to pale wheat surrounded by crimson\nanemones.[60] It is quite against the tenor of her conduct to suppose\nthat the modest country girl would degrade herself by ministering to\nthe amusement of a corrupt court in this shameless manner. It is more\nreasonable to conclude that the entertainment was given by a\nprofessional dancer from among the women of the harem. We have a hint\nthat this is the case in the title applied to the performer, in\naddressing whom Solomon exclaims, \"O prince's daughter,\"[61]] an\nexpression never used for the poor Shulammite, and one from which we\nshould gather that she was a captive princess who had been trained as\na court dancer. The glimpse of the manners of the palace helps to\nstrengthen the contrast of the innocent, simple country life in which\nthe Shulammite delights.\n\n  [59] vi. 13. This is obscured in the Authorised Version.\n\n  [60] vii. 1-9.\n\n  [61] vii 1.\n\nIt has been suggested, with some degree of probability, that the\nShulammite is supposed to make her escape while the attention of the\nking and his court is diverted by this entrancing spectacle. It is to\nbe observed, at all events, that from this point onwards to the end of\nthe poem, neither Solomon nor the daughters of Jerusalem take any part\nin the dialogue, while the scene appears to be shifted to the\nShulammite's home in the country, where she and the shepherd are now\nseen together in happy companionship. The bridegroom has come to fetch\nhis bride. Again she owns that she is his, and delights in the glad\nthought that his heart goes out to her.[62] She bids him come with her\ninto the field, and lodge in the villages. They will get them early\ninto the vineyards and see whether the vines are blooming, and whether\nthe pomegranates are in blossom.[63] It is still early spring. It was\nearly spring when she was snatched away. Unless she had been a whole\nyear at the palace,--an impossible situation with the king continuing\nhis ineffectual courtship for so long a time,--we have no movement of\ntime. But the series of events from the day when the Shulammite was\nseized in her nut garden, till she found herself back again in her\nhome in the north country, after the trying episode of her temporary\nresidence in the royal palace, must have occupied some weeks. And yet\nthe conclusion of the story is set in precisely the same stage of\nspring, the time when people look for the first buds and blossoms, as\nthe opening scenes. It has been proposed to confine the whole action\nto the northern district, where Solomon might have had a country house\nadjoining his vineyard.[64] The presence of the \"daughters of\nJerusalem,\" and allusions to the streets of the city, its watchmen,\nand the guard upon the walls, are against this notion. It is better to\nconclude that we have here another instance of the idealism of the\npoem. Since early spring is the season that harmonises most perfectly\nwith the spirit of the whole work, the author does not trouble himself\nwith adapting its scenes in a realistic manner to the rapidly changing\naspects of nature.\n\n  [62] vii. 10.\n\n  [63] vii. 11-13.\n\n  [64] viii. 11.\n\nThe shepherd has addressed the Shulammite as his sister;[65] she now\nreciprocates the title by expressing her longing that he had been as\nher brother.[66] This singular mode of courtship between two lovers\nwho are so passionately devoted to one another that we might call them\nthe Hebrew Romeo and Juliet, is not without significance. Its\nrecurrence, now on the lips of the bride, helps to sharpen still more\nthe contrast between what passes for love in the royal harem, and the\ntrue emotion experienced by a pair of innocent young people, unsullied\nby the corruptions of the court--illustrating, as it does at once, its\nsweet intimacy and its perfect purity.\n\n  [65] viii. 1.\n\n  [66] viii. 1.\n\nThe proud bride would now lead her swain to her mother's house.[67]\nThere is no mention of her father; apparently he is not living. But\nthe fond way in which this simple girl speaks of her mother reveals\nanother lovely trait in her character. She has witnessed the wearisome\nmagnificence of Solomon's palace. It was impossible to associate the\nidea of home with such a place. We never hear the daughters of\nJerusalem, those poor degraded women of the harem, speaking of their\nmothers. But to the Shulammite no spot on earth is so dear as her\nmother's cottage. There her lover shall have spiced wine and\npomegranate juice--simple home-made country beverages.[68] Repeating\none of the early refrains of the poem, the happy bride is not afraid\nto say that there too her husband shall support her in his strong\nembrace.[69] She then repeats another refrain, and for the last\ntime--surely one would say now, quite superfluously--she adjures the\ndaughters of Jerusalem not to awaken any love for Solomon in her, but\nto leave love to its spontaneous course.[70]\n\n  [67] viii. 2.\n\n  [68] viii. 2.\n\n  [69] viii. 3.\n\n  [70] viii. 4.\n\nNow the bridegroom is seen coming up from the wilderness with his\nbride leaning upon him, and telling how he first made love to her when\nhe found her asleep under an apple tree in the garden of the cottage\nwhere she was born.[71] As they converse together we reach the richest\ngem of the poem, the Shulammite's impassioned eulogy of love.[72] She\nbids her husband set her as a seal upon his heart in the inner\nsanctuary of his being, and as a seal upon his arm--always owning her,\nalways true to her in the outer world. She is to be his closely, his\nopenly, his for ever. She has proved her constancy to him; now she\nclaims his constancy to her. The foundation of this claim rests on the\nvery nature of love. The one essential characteristic here dwelt upon\nis strength--\"Love is strong as death.\" Who can resist grim death? who\nescape its iron clutches? Who can resist mighty love, or evade its\npower? The illustration is startling in the apparent incompatibility\nof the two things drawn together for comparison. But it is a stern and\nterrible aspect of love to which our attention is now directed. This\nis apparent as the Shulammite proceeds to speak of jealousy which is\n\"hard as the grave.\" If love is treated falsely, it can flash out in a\nflame of wrath ten times more furious than the raging of hatred--\"a\nmost vehement flame of the Lord.\" This is the only place in which the\nname of God appears throughout the whole poem. It may be said that\neven here it only comes in according to a familiar Hebrew idiom, as\nmetaphor for what is very great. But the Shulammite has good reason\nfor claiming God to be on her side in the protection of her love from\ncruel wrong and outrage. Love as she knows it is both unquenchable and\nunpurchasable. She has tested and proved these two attributes in her\nown experience. At the court of Solomon every effort was made to\ndestroy her love for the shepherd, and all possible means were\nemployed for buying her love for the king. Both utterly failed. All\nthe floods of scorn which the harem ladies poured over her love for\nthe country lad could not quench it; all the wealth of a kingdom could\nnot buy it for Solomon. Where true love exists, no opposition can\ndestroy it; where it is not, no money can purchase it. As for the\nsecond idea--the purchasing of love--the Shulammite flings it away\nwith the utmost contempt. Yet this was the too common means employed\nby a king such as Solomon for replenishing the stock of his harem.\nThen the monarch was only pursuing a shadow; he was but playing at\nlove-making; he was absolutely ignorant of the reality.\n\n  [71] viii. 5.\n\n  [72] viii. 6, 7.\n\nThe vigour, one might say the rigour, of this passage distinguishes it\nfrom nearly all other poetry devoted to the praises of love. That\npoetry is usually soft and tender; sometimes it is feeble and sugary.\nAnd yet it must be remembered that even the classical Aphrodite could\nbe terribly angry. There is nothing morbid or sentimental in the\nShulammite's ideas. She has discovered and proved by experience that\nlove is a mighty force, capable of heroic endurance, and able, when\nwronged, to avenge itself with serious effect.\n\nTowards the conclusion of the poem fresh speakers appear in the\npersons of the Shulammite's brothers, who defend themselves from the\ncharge of negligence in having permitted their little sister to be\nsnatched away from their keeping, explaining how they have done their\nbest to guard her. Or perhaps they mean that they will be more careful\nin protecting a younger sister. They will build battlements about her.\nThe Shulammite takes up the metaphor. She is safe now, as a wall well\nembattled; at last she has found peace in the love of her husband.\nSolomon may have a vineyard in her neighbourhood, and draw great\nwealth from it with which to buy the wares in which he delights.[73]\nIt is nothing to her. She has her own vineyard. This reference to the\nShulammite's vineyard recalls the mention of it at the beginning of\nthe poem, and suggests the idea that in both cases the image\nrepresents the shepherd lover. In the first instance she had not kept\nher vineyard,[74] for she had lost her lover. Now she has him, and she\nis satisfied.[75] He calls to her in the garden, longing to hear her\nvoice there,[76] and she replies, bidding him hasten and come to her\nas she has described him coming before,--\n\n  \"Like to a roe or a young hart\n  Upon the mountains of spices.\"[77]\n\n  [73] viii. 11.\n\n  [74] i. 6.\n\n  [75] viii. 12.\n\n  [76] viii. 13.\n\n  [77] viii. 14.\n\nAnd so the poem sinks to rest in the happy picture of the union of the\ntwo young lovers.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n_MYSTICAL INTERPRETATIONS_\n\n\nThus far we have been considering the bare, literal sense of the text.\nIt cannot be denied that, if only to lead up to the metaphorical\nsignificance of the words employed, those words must be approached\nthrough their primary physical meanings. This is essential even to the\nunderstanding of pure allegory such as that of _The Faerie Queen_ and\n_The Pilgrim's Progress_; we must understand the adventures of the Red\nCross Knight and the course of Christian's journey before we can learn\nthe moral of Spenser's and Bunyan's elaborate allegories. Similarly it\nis absolutely necessary for us to have some idea of the movement of\nthe Song of Solomon as a piece of literature, in its external form,\neven if we are persuaded that beneath this sensuous exterior it\ncontains the most profound ideas, before we can discover any such\nideas. In other words, if it is to be considered as a mass of\nsymbolism the symbols must be understood in themselves before their\nsignificance can be drawn out of them.\n\nBut now we are confronted with the question whether the book has any\nother meaning than that which meets the eye. The answers to this\nquestion are given on three distinct lines:--First, we have the\n_allegorical_ schemes of interpretation, according to which the poem\nis not to be taken literally at all, but is to be regarded as a\npurely metaphorical representation of national or Church history,\nphilosophical ideas, or spiritual experiences. In the second place, we\nmeet with various forms of double interpretation, described as\n_typical_ or _mystical_, in which a primary meaning is allowed to the\nbook as a sort of drama or idyl, or as a collection of Jewish\nlove-songs, while a secondary signification of an ideal or spiritual\ncharacter is added. Distinct as these lines of interpretation are in\nthemselves, they tend to blend in practice, because even when two\nmeanings are admitted the symbolical signification is considered to be\nof so much greater importance than the literal that it virtually\noccupies the whole field. In the third place there is the _purely\nliteral_ interpretation, that which denies the existence of any\nsymbolical or mystical intention in the poem.\n\nAllegorical interpretations of the Song of Solomon are found among the\nJews early in the Christian era. The Aramaic Targum, probably\noriginating about the sixth century A.D., takes the first half of the\npoem as a symbolical picture of the history of Israel previous to the\ncaptivity, and the second as a prophetic picture of the subsequent\nfortunes of the nation. The recurrence of the expression \"the\ncongregation of Israel\" in this paraphrase wherever the Shulammite\nappears, and other similar adaptations, entirely destroy the fine\npoetic flavour of the work, and convert it into a dreary, dry-as-dust\ncomposition.\n\nSymbolical interpretations were very popular among Christian\nFathers--though not with universal approval, as the protest of\nTheodore of Mopsuestia testifies. The great Alexandrian Origen is the\nfounder and patron of this method of interpreting the Song of Solomon\nin the Church. Jerome was of opinion that Origen \"surpassed himself\"\nin his commentary on the poem--a commentary to which he devoted ten\nvolumes. According to his view, it was originally an epithalamium\ncelebrating the marriage of Solomon with Pharaoh's daughter; but it\nhas secondary mystical meanings descriptive of the relation of the\nRedeemer to the Church or the individual soul. Thus \"the little foxes\nthat spoil the grapes\" are evil thoughts in the individual, or\nheretics in the Church. Gregory the Great contributes a commentary of\nno lasting interest. Very different is the work of the great mediaeval\nmonk St. Bernard of Clairvaux, who threw himself into it with all the\npassion and rapture of his enthusiastic soul, and in the course of\neighty-six homilies only reached the beginning of the third chapter in\nthis to him inexhaustible mine of spiritual wealth, when he died,\nhanding on the task to his faithful disciple Gilbert Porretanus, who\ncontinued it on the same portentous scale, and also died before he had\nfinished the fifth chapter. Even while reading the old monkish Latin\nin this late age we cannot fail to feel the glowing devotion that\ninspires it. Bernard is addressing his monks, to whom he says he need\nnot give the milk for babes, and whom he exhorts to prepare their\nthroats not for this milk but for bread. As a schoolman he cannot\nescape from metaphysical subtleties--he takes the kiss of the\nbridegroom as a symbol of the incarnation. But throughout there burns\nthe perfect rapture of love to Jesus Christ which inspires his\nwell-known hymns. Here we are at the secret of the extraordinary\npopularity of mystical interpretations of the Song of Solomon. It has\nseemed to many in all ages of the Christian Church to afford the best\nexpression for the deepest spiritual relations of Christ and His\npeople. Nevertheless, the mystical method has been widely disputed\nsince the time of the Reformation. Luther complains of the \"many wild\nand monstrous interpretations\" that are attached to the Song of\nSolomon, though even he understands it as symbolical of Solomon and\nhis state. Still, not a few of the most popular hymns of our own day\nare saturated with ideas and phrases gathered from this book, and\nfresh expositions of what are considered to be its spiritual lessons\nmay still be met with.\n\nIt is not easy to discover any justification for the rabbinical\nexplanation of the Song of Solomon as a representation of successive\nevents in the history of Israel, an explanation which Jewish scholars\nhave abandoned in favour of simple literalism. But the mystical view,\naccording to which the poem sets forth spiritual ideas, has pleas\nurged in its favour that demand some consideration. We are reminded of\nthe analogy of Oriental literature, which delights in parable to an\nextent unknown in the West. Works of a kindred nature are produced in\nwhich an allegorical signification is plainly intended. Thus the\nHindoo Gilagovinda celebrates the loves of Chrishna and Radha in\nverses that bear a remarkable resemblance to the Song of Solomon.\nArabian poets sing of the love of Joseph for Zuleikha, which mystics\ntake as the love of God towards the soul that longs for union with\nHim. There is a Turkish mystical commentary on the Song of Hafiz.\n\nThe bible itself furnishes us with suggestive analogies. Throughout\nthe Old Testament the idea of a marriage union between God and His\npeople occurs repeatedly, and the most frequent metaphor for religious\napostasy is drawn from the crime of adultery.[78] This symbolism is\nespecially prominent in the writings of Jeremiah[79] and Hosea.[80]\nThe forty-fifth psalm is an epithalamium commonly read with a\nMessianic signification. John the Baptist describes the coming Messiah\nas the Bridegroom,[81] and Jesus Christ accepts the title for\nHimself.[82] Our Lord illustrates the blessedness of the Kingdom of\nHeaven in a parable of a wedding feast.[83] With St. Paul the union of\nhusband and wife is an earthly copy of the union of Christ and his\nChurch.[84] The marriage of the Lamb is a prominent feature in the\nBook of the Revelation.[85]\n\n  [78] _E.g._ Exod. xxxiv. 15, 16; Numb. xv. 39; Psalm lxxiii. 27; Ezek.\n  xvi. 23, etc.\n\n  [79] _E.g._ Jer. iii. 1-11.\n\n  [80] Hosea ii. 2.; iii. 3.\n\n  [81] John iii. 29.\n\n  [82] Mark. ii. 19.\n\n  [83] Matt. xxii. 1-14.\n\n  [84] Eph. v. 22-33.\n\n  [85] Rev. xxi. 9.\n\nFurther, it may be maintained that the experience of Christians has\ndemonstrated the aptness of the expression of the deepest spiritual\ntruths in the imagery of the Song of Solomon. Sad hearts disappointed\nin their earthly hopes have found in the religious reading of this\npoem as a picture of their relation to their Saviour the satisfaction\nfor which they have hungered, and which the world could never give\nthem. Devout Christians have read in it the very echo of their own\nemotions. Samuel Rutherford's _Letters_, for example, are in perfect\nharmony with the religious interpretation of the Song of Solomon; and\nthese letters stand in the first rank of devotional works. There is\ncertainly some force in the argument that a key which seems to fit the\nlock so well must have been designed to do so.\n\nOn the other hand, the objections to a mystical, religious\ninterpretation are very strong. In the first place, we can quite\naccount for its appearance apart from any justification of it in the\noriginal intention of the author. Allegory was in the air at the time\nwhen, as far as we know, secondary meanings were first attached to the\nideas of the Song of Solomon. They sprang from Alexandria, the home of\nallegory. Origen, who was the first Christian writer to work out a\nmystical explanation of this book, treated other books of the Old\nTestament in exactly the same way; but we never dream of following him\nin his fantastical interpretations of those works. There is no\nindication that the poem was understood allegorically or mystically as\nearly as the first century of the Christian era. Philo is the prince\nof allegorists; but while he explains the narratives of the Pentateuch\naccording to his favourite method, he never applies that method to\nthis very tempting book, and never even mentions the work or makes any\nreference to its contents. The Song of Solomon is not once mentioned\nor even alluded to in the slightest way by any writer of the New\nTestament. Since it is never noticed by Christ or the Apostles, of\ncourse we cannot appeal to their authority for reading it mystically;\nand yet it was undoubtedly known to them as one of the books in the\ncanon of the sacred Scriptures to which they were in the habit of\nappealing repeatedly. Consider the grave significance of this fact.\nAll secondary interpretations of which we know anything, and, as far\nas we can tell, all that ever existed, had their origin in\npost-apostolic times. If we would justify this method by authority it\nis to the Fathers that we must go, not to Christ and or his apostles,\nnot to the sacred Scriptures. It is a noteworthy fact, too, that the\nword _Eros_, the Greek name for the love of man and woman, as\ndistinguished from _Agape_, which stands for love in the widest sense\nof the word, is first applied to our Lord by Ignatius. Here we have\nthe faint beginning of the stream of erotic religious fancies which\nsometimes manifests itself most objectionably in subsequent Church\nhistory. There is not a trace of it in the New Testament.\n\nIf the choice spiritual ideas which some people think they see in the\nSong of Solomon are not imported by the reader, but form part of the\ngenuine contents of the book, how comes it that this fact was not\nrecognised by one of the inspired writers of the New Testament? or, if\nprivately recognised, that it was never utilised? In the hands of the\nmystical interpreter this work is about the most valuable part of the\nOld Testament. He finds it to be an inexhaustible mine of the most\nprecious treasures. Why, then, was such a remunerative lode never\nworked by the first authorities in Christian teaching? It may be\nreplied that we cannon prove much from a bare negative. The apostles\nmay have had their own perfectly sufficient reasons for leaving to the\nChurch of later ages the discovery of this valuable spiritual store.\nPossibly the converts of their day were not ripe for the comprehension\nof the mysteries here expounded. Be that as it may, clearly the onus\n_probandi_ rests with those people of a later age who introduce a\nmethod of interpretation for which no sanction can be found in\nScripture.\n\nNow the analogies that have been referred to are not sufficient to\nestablish any proof. In the case of the other poems mentioned above\nthere are distinct indications of symbolical intentions. Thus in the\n_Gitagovinda_ the hero is a divinity whose incarnations are\nacknowledged in Hindoo mythology; and the concluding verse of that\npoem points the moral by a direct assertion of the religious meaning\nof the whole composition. This is not the case with the Song of\nSolomon. We must not be misled by the chapter-headings in our English\nBibles, which of course are not to be found in the original Hebrew\ntext. From the first line to the last there is not the slightest hint\nin the poem itself that it was intended to be read in any mystical\nsense. This is contrary to the analogy of all allegories. The parable\nmay be difficult to interpret, but at all events it must suggest that\nit is a parable; otherwise it defeats its own object. If the writer\nnever drops any hint that he has wrapped up spiritual ideas in the\nsensuous imagery of his poetry, what right has he to expect that\nanybody will find them there, so long as his poem admits of a\nperfectly adequate explanation in a literal sense? We need not be so\ndense as to require the allegorist to say to us in so many words:\n\"This is a parable.\" But we may justly expect him to furnish us with\nsome hint that his utterance is of such a character. AEsop's fables\ncarry their lessons on the surface of them, so that we can often\nanticipate the concluding morals that are attached to them. When\nTennyson announced that the _Idyls of the King_ constituted an\nallegory most people were taken by surprise; and yet the analogy of\n_The Faerie Queen_, and the lofty ethical ideas with which the poems\nare inspired, might have prepared us for the revelation. But we have\nno similar indications in the case of the Song of Solomon. If somebody\nwere to propound a new theory of _The Vicar of Wakefield_, which\nshould turn that exquisite tale into a parable of the Fall, it would\nnot be enough for him to exercise his ingenuity in pointing out\nresemblances between the eighteenth-century romance and the ancient\nnarrative of the serpent's doings in the Garden of Eden. Since he\ncould not shew that Goldsmith had the slightest intention of teaching\nanything of the kind, his exploit could be regarded as nothing but a\npiece of literary trifling.\n\nThe Biblical analogies already cited, in which the marriage relation\nbetween God or Christ and the Church or the soul are referred to, will\nnot bear the strain that is put upon them when they are brought\nforward in order to justify a mystical interpretation of the Song of\nSolomon. At best they simply account for the emergence of this view of\nthe book at a later time, or indicate that such a notion might be\nmaintained if there were good reasons for adopting it. They cannot\nprove that in the present case it should be adopted. Moreover, they\ndiffer from it on two important points. _First_, in harmony with all\ngenuine allegories and metaphors, they carry their own evidence of a\nsymbolical meaning, which as we have seen the Song of Solomon fails to\ndo. _Second_, they are not elaborate compositions of a dramatic or\nidyllic character in which the passion of love is vividly illustrated.\nRegarded in its entirety, the Song of Solomon is quite without\nparallel in Scripture. It may be replied that we cannot disprove the\nallegorical intention of the book. But this is not the question. That\nintention requires to be proved; and until it is proved, or at least\nuntil some very good reasons are urged for adopting it, no statement\nof bare possibilities counts for anything.\n\nBut we may push the case further. There is a positive improbability of\nthe highest order that the spiritual ideas read into the Song of\nSolomon by some of its Christian admirers should have been originally\nthere. This would involve the most tremendous anachronism in all\nliterature. The Song of Solomon is dated among the earlier works of\nthe Old Testament. But the religious ideas now associated with it\nrepresent what is regarded as the fruit of the most advanced\nsaintliness ever attained in the Christian Church. Here we have a flat\ncontradiction to the growth of revelation manifested throughout the\nwhole course of Scripture history. We might as well ascribe the\nSistine Madonna to the fresco-painters of the catacombs; or, what is\nmore to the point, our Lord's discourse with his disciples at the\npaschal meal to Solomon or some other Jew of his age.\n\nNo doubt the devoted follower of the mystical method will not be\ntroubled by considerations such as these. To him the supposed fitness\nof the poem to convey his religious ideas is the one sufficient proof\nof an original design that it should serve that end. So long as the\nquestion is approached in this way, the absence of clear evidence only\ndelights the prejudiced commentator with the opportunity it affords\nfor the exercise of his ingenuity. To a certain school of readers the\nvery obscurity of a book is its fascination. The less obvious a\nmeaning is, the more eagerly do they set themselves to expound and\ndefend it. We could leave them to what might be considered a very\nharmless diversion if it were not for other considerations. But we\ncannot forget that it is just this ingenious way of interpreting the\nBible in accordance with preconceived opinions that has encouraged the\nquotation of the Sacred Volume in favour of absolutely contradictory\npropositions, an abuse which in its turn has provoked an inevitable\nreaction leading to contempt for the Bible as an obscure book which\nspeaks with no certain voice.\n\nStill, it may be contended, the analogy between the words of this poem\nand the spiritual experience of Christians is in itself an indication\nof intentional connection. Swedenborg has shewn that there are\ncorrespondences between the natural and the spiritual, and this truth\nis illustrated by the metaphorical references to marriage in the Bible\nwhich have been adduced for comparison with the Song of Solomon. But\ntheir very existence shows that analogies between religious experience\nand the love story of the Shulammite may be traced out by the reader\nwithout any design on the part of the author to present them. If they\nare natural they are universal, and any love song will serve our\npurpose. On this principle, if the Song of Solomon admits of mystical\nadaptation, so do Mrs. Browning's _Sonnets from the Portuguese_.\n\nWe have no alternative, then, but to conclude that the mystical\ninterpretation of this work is based on a delusion. Moreover, it must\nbe added that the delusion is a mischievous one. No doubt to many it\nhas been as meat and drink. They have found in their reading of the\nSong of Solomon real spiritual refreshment, or they believe they have\nfound it. But there is another side. The poem has been used to\nminister to a morbid, sentimental type of religion. More than any\nother influence, the mystical interpretation of this book has imported\nan effeminate element into the notion of the love of Christ, not one\ntrace of which can be detected in the New Testament. The Catholic\nlegend of the marriage of St. Catherine is somewhat redeemed by the\nhigh ascetic tone that pervades it; and yet it indicates a decline\nfrom the standpoint of the apostles. Not a few unquestionable\nrevelations of immorality in convents have shed a ghastly light on the\nabuse of erotic religious fervour. Among Protestants it cannot be said\nthat the most wholesome hymns are those which are composed on the\nmodel of the Song of Solomon. In some cases the religious use of this\nbook is perfectly nauseous, indicating nothing less than a disease of\nreligion. When--as sometimes happens--frightful excesses of sensuality\nfollow close on seasons of what has been regarded as the revival of\nreligion, the common explanation of these horrors is that in some\nmysterious way spiritual emotion lies very near to sensual appetite,\nso that an excitement of the one tends to rouse the other. A more\nrevolting hypothesis, or one more insulting to religion, cannot be\nimagined. The truth is, the two regions are separate as the poles. The\nexplanation of the phenomena of their apparent conjunction is to be\nfound in quite another direction. It is that their victims have\nsubstituted for religion a sensuous excitement which is as little\nreligious as the elation that follows indulgence in alcoholism. There\nis no more deadly temptation of the devil than that which hoodwinks\ndeluded fanatics into making this terrible mistake. But it can\nscarcely be denied that the mystical reading of the Song of Solomon by\nunspiritual persons, or even by any persons who are not completely\nfortified against the danger, may tend in this fatal direction.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n_CANONICITY_\n\n\nIt is scarcely to be expected that the view of the Song of Solomon\nexpounded in the foregoing pages will meet with acceptance from every\nreader. A person who has been accustomed to resort to this book in\nsearch of the deepest spiritual ideas cannot but regard the denial of\ntheir presence with aversion. While, however, it is distressing to be\ncompelled to give pain to a devout soul, it may be necessary. If there\nis weight in the considerations that have been engaging our attention,\nwe cannot shut our eyes to them simply because they may be\ndisappointing. The mystical interpreter will be shocked at what he\ntakes for irreverence. But, on the other hand, he should be on his\nguard against falling into this very fault from the opposite side.\nReverence for truth is a primary Christian duty. The iconoclast is\ncertain to be charged with irreverence by the devotee of the popular\nidol which he feels it his duty to destroy; and yet, if his action is\ninspired by loyalty to truth, reverence for what he deems highest and\nbest may be its mainspring.\n\nIf the Song of Solomon were not one of the books of the Bible,\nquestions such as these would never arise. It is its place in the\nsacred canon that induces people to resent the consequences of the\napplication of criticism to it. It is simply owing to its being a part\nof the Bible that it has come to be treated mystically at all.\nUndoubtedly this is why it was allegorised by the Jews. But, then, the\nsecondary signification thus acquired reacted upon it, and served as a\nsort of buoy to float it over the rocks of awkward questions. The\nresult was that in the end the book attained to an exceptionally high\nposition in the estimation of the rabbis. Thus the great Rabbi Akiba\nsays: \"The course of the ages cannot vie with the day on which the\nSong of Songs was given to Israel. All the _Kethubim_ (_i.e._, the\n_Hagiographa_) are holy, but the Song of Songs is a holy of holies.\"\n\nSuch being the case, it is manifest that the rejection of the mystical\nsignification of its contents must revive the question of the\ncanonicity of the book. We have not, however, to deal with the problem\nof its original insertion in the canon. We find it there. Some doubts\nas to its right to the place it holds seem to have been raised among\nthe Jews during the first century of the Christian era; but these\ndoubts were effectually borne down. As far as we know, the Song of\nSolomon has always been a portion of the Hebrew Scriptures from the\nobscure time when the collection of those Scriptures was completed. It\nstands as the first of the five _Megilloth_, or sacred rolls--the\nothers being Ruth, Lamentations, Esther, and Ecclesiastes. We are not\nnow engaged in the difficult task of constructing a new canon. The\nonly possibility is that of the expulsion of a book already in the old\ncanon. But the attempt to disturb in any way such a volume as the Old\nTestament, with all its incomparable associations, is not one to be\nundertaken lightly or without adequate reason.\n\nIn order to justify this radical measure it would not be enough to\nshew that the specific religious meanings that some have attached to\nthe Song of Solomon do not really belong to it. If it is said that the\nsecular tone it acquires under the hands of criticism shews it to be\nunworthy of a place in the sacred Scriptures, this assertion goes upon\nan unwarrantable assumption. We have no reason to maintain that all\nthe books of the Old Testament must be of equal value. The Book of\nEsther does not reach a very high level of moral or religious worth;\nthe pessimism of Ecclesiastes is not inspiring; even the Book of\nProverbs contains maxims that cannot be elevated to a first place in\nethics. If we could discover no distinctively enlightening or\nuplifting influence in the Song of Solomon, this would not be a\nsufficient reason for raising a cry against it; because if it were\nsimply neutral in character, like nitrogen in the atmosphere, it would\ndo no harm, and we could safely let it be. The one justification for a\nradical treatment of the question would be the discovery that the book\nwas false in doctrine or deleterious in character. As to doctrine, it\ndoes not trench on that region at all. It would be as incongruous to\nassociate it with the grave charge of heresy as to bring a similar\naccusation against the _Essays of Elia_ or Keats's poetry. And if the\nview expressed in these pages is at all correct, it certainly cannot\nbe said that the moral tendency of the book is injurious; the very\nreverse must be affirmed.\n\nSince there is no reason to believe that the Song of Solomon had\nreceived any allegorical interpretation before the commencement of the\nChristian era, we must conclude that it was not on the ground of some\nsuch interpretation that it was originally admitted into the Hebrew\ncollection of Scripture. It was placed in the canon before it was\nallegorised. It was only allegorised because it had been placed in\nthe canon. Then why was it set there? The natural conclusion to arrive\nat under these circumstances is that the scribes who ventured to put\nit first among the sacred _Megilloth_ saw that there was a distinctive\nvalue in it. Perhaps; however, it is too much to say this of them. The\nword \"Solomon\" being attached to the book would seem to justify its\ninclusion with other literature which had received the hall-mark of\nthat great name. Still we can learn to appreciate it on its own\nmerits, and in so doing perceive that there is something in it to\njustify its right to a niche in the glorious temple of scripture.\n\nAssuredly it was much to make clear in the days of royal polygamy\namong the Jews that this gross imitation of the court life of heathen\nmonarchies was a despicable and degrading thing, and to set over\nagainst it an attractive picture of true love and simple manners. The\nprophets of Israel were continually protesting against a growing\ndissoluteness of morals: the Song of Solomon is a vivid illustration\nof the spirit of their protest. If the two nations had been content\nwith the rustic delight so beautifully portrayed in this book, they\nmight not have fallen into ruin as they did under the influence of the\ncorruptions of an effete civilisation. If their people had cherished\nthe graces of purity and constancy that shine so conspicuously in the\ncharacter of the Shulammite they might not have needed to pass through\nthe purging fires of the captivity.\n\nBut while this can be said of the book as it first appeared among the\nJews, a similar estimate of its function in later ages may also be\nmade. An ideal representation of fidelity in love under the greatest\nprovocation to surrender at discretion has a message for every age. We\nneed not shrink from reading it in the pages of the Bible. Our Lord\nteaches us that next to the duty of love to God comes that of love to\none's neighbour. But a man's nearest neighbour is his wife. Therefore\nafter his God his wife has the first claim upon him. But the whole\nconception of matrimonial duty rests on the idea of constancy in the\nlove of man and woman.\n\nIf this book had been read in its literal signification and its\nwholesome lesson absorbed by Christendom in the Middle Ages, the\ngloomy cloud of asceticism that then hung over the Church would have\nbeen somewhat lightened, not to give place to the outburst of\nlicentiousness that accompanied the _Renaissance_, but rather to allow\nof the better establishment of the Christian home. The absurd legends\nthat follow the names of St. Anthony and St. Dunstan would have lost\ntheir motive. Hildebrand would have had no occasion to hurl his\nthunderbolt. The Church was making the huge mistake of teaching that\nthe remedy for dissoluteness was unnatural celibacy. This book taught\nthe lesson--truer to nature, truer to experience, truer to the God who\nmade us--that it was to be found in the redemption of love.\n\nCan it be denied that the same lesson is needed in our own day? The\nrealism that has made itself a master of a large part of popular\nliterature reveals a state of society that perpetuates the manners of\nthe court of Solomon, though under a thin veil of decorum. The remedy\nfor the awful dissoluteness of large portions of society can only be\nfound in the cultivation of such lofty ideas on the relation of the\nsexes that this abomination shall be scouted with horror. It is\nneither necessary, nor right, nor possible to contradict nature. What\nhas to be shewn is that man's true nature is not bestial, that satyrs\nand fauns are not men, but degraded caricatures of men. We cannot\ncrush the strongest passion of human nature. The moral of the Song of\nSolomon is that there is no occasion to attempt to crush it, because\nthe right thing is to elevate it by lofty ideals of love and\nconstancy.\n\nThis subject also deserves attention on its positive side. The\nliterature of all ages is a testimony to the fact that nothing in the\nworld is so interesting as love. What is so old as love-making? and\nwhat so fresh? At least ninety-nine novels out of a hundred have a\nlove-story for plot; and the hundredth is always regarded as an\neccentric experiment. The pedant may plant his heel on the perennial\nflower; but it will spring up again as vigorous as ever. This is the\npoetry of the most commonplace existence. When it visits a dingy soul\nthe desert blossoms as the rose. Life may be hard, and its drudgery a\ngrinding yoke; but with love \"all tasks are sweet.\" \"And Jacob served\nseven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for\nthe love he had to her.\"[86] That experience of the patriarch is\ntypical of the magic power of true love in every age, in every clime.\nTo the lover it is always \"the time of the singing of birds.\" Who\nshall tell the value of the boon that God has given so freely to\nmankind, to sweeten the lot of the toiler and shed music into his\nheart? But this boon requires to be jealously guarded and sheltered\nfrom abuse, or its honey will be turned into gall. It is for the\ntoiler--the shepherd whose locks are wet with the dew that has fallen\nupon him while guarding his flock by night, the maiden who has been\nworking in the vineyard; it is beyond the reach of the pleasure-seeking\nmonarch and the indolent ladies of his court. This boon is for the pure\nin heart; it is utterly denied to the sensual and dissolute. Finally, it\nis reserved for the loyal and true as the peculiar reward of constancy.\n\n  [86] Gen. xxix. 20.\n\nBut while a poem that contains these principles must be allowed to\nhave an important mission in the world, it does not follow that it is\nsuitable for public or indiscriminate reading. The fact that the key\nto it is not easily discovered is a warning that it is liable to be\nmisunderstood. When it is read superficially, without any\ncomprehension of its drift and motive, it may be perverted to\nmischievous ends. The antique Oriental pictures with which it abounds,\nthough natural to the circumstances of its origin, are not in harmony\nwith the more reserved manners of our own conditions of society. As\nall the books of the Bible are not of the same character, so also they\nare not all to be used in the same way.\n\n_THE LAMENTATIONS OF JEREMIAH_\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n_HEBREW ELEGIES_\n\n\nThe book which is known by the title \"The Lamentations of Jeremiah\" is\na collection of five separate poems, very similar in style, and all\ntreating of the same subject--the desolation of Jerusalem and the\nsufferings of the Jews after the overthrow of their city by\nNebuchadnezzar. In our English Bible it is placed among the\nprophetical works of the Old Testament, standing next to the\nacknowledged writings of the man whose name it bears. This arrangement\nfollows the order in the Septuagint, from which it was accepted by\nJosephus and the Christian Fathers. And yet the natural place for such\na book would seem to be in association with the Psalms and other\npoetical compositions of a kindred character. So thought the Rabbis\nwho compiled the Jewish canon. In the Hebrew Bible the Book of\nLamentations is assigned to the third collection, that designated\n_Hagiographa_, not to the part known as the _Prophets_.\n\nIn form as well as in substance this book is a remarkable specimen of\na specific order of poetry. The difficulty of recovering the original\npronunciation of the language has left our conception of Hebrew metres\nin a state of obscurity. It has been generally supposed that the\nrhythm was more of sight than of sound, but that it consisted\nessentially in neither, depending mainly on the balance of ideas. The\nmetre, it has been stated, might strike the eye in the external aspect\nof the sentences; it was designed much more to charm the mind by the\nharmony and music of the thoughts. But while these general principles\nare still acknowledged, some further progress has been made in the\nexamination of the structure of the verses, with the result that both\nmore regularity of law and more variety of metre have been discovered.\nThe elegy in particular is found to be shaped on special lines of its\nown. It has been pointed out that a peculiar metre is reserved for\npoems of mournful reflection.\n\nThe first feature of this metre to be noted is the unusual length of\nthe line. In Hebrew poetry, according to the generally accepted\npronunciation, the lines vary from about six syllables to about\ntwelve. In the elegy the line most frequently runs to the extreme\nlimit, and so acquires a slow, solemn movement.\n\nA second feature of elegiac poetry is the breaking of the lengthy line\ninto two unequal parts--the first part being about as long as a whole\nline in an average Hebrew lyric, and the second much shorter, reading\nlike another line abbreviated, and seeming to suggest that the weary\nthought is waking up and hurrying to its conclusion. Sometimes this\nshort section is a thin echo of the fuller conception that precedes,\nsometimes the completion of that conception. In the English version,\nof course, the effect is frequently lost; still occasionally it is\nvery marked, even after passing through this foreign medium. Take, for\nexample, the lines,\n\n  \"Her princes are become like harts--that find no pasture,\n  And they are gone without strength--before the pursuer;\"[87]\n\nor again the very long line,\n\n  \"It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed--because His\n        compassions fail not.\"[88]\n\n  [87] i. 6.\n\n  [88] iii. 22.\n\nNow although this is only a structural feature it points to inferences\nof deeper significance. It shews that the Hebrew poets paid special\nattention to the elegy as a species of verse to be treated apart, and\ntherefore that they attached a peculiar significance to the ideas and\nfeelings it expresses. The ease with which the transition to the\nelegiac form of verse is made whenever an occasion for using it occurs\nis a hint that this must have been familiar to the Jews. Possibly it\nwas in common use at funerals in the dirge. We meet with an early\nspecimen of this verse in Amos, when, just after announcing that he is\nabout to utter a _lamentation_ over the house of Israel, the herdsman\nof Tekoa breaks into elegiacs with the words,\n\n  \"The virgin daughter of Israel is fallen--she shall no more rise:\n  She is cast down upon her land--there is none to raise her up.\"[89]\n\n  [89] Amos v. 2.\n\nSimilarly constructed elegiac pieces are scattered over the Old\nTestament scriptures from the eighth century B.C. onwards. Several\nillustrations of this peculiar kind of metre are to be found in the\nPsalms. It is employed ironically with terrible effect in the Book of\nIsaiah, where the mock lament over the death of the king of Babylon is\nconstructed in the form of a true elegy. When the prophet made a\nsudden transition from his normal style to sombre funereal measures\nhis purpose would be at once recognised, for his words would sound\nlike the tolling bell and the muffled drums that announce the march\nof death; and yet it would be known that this solemn pomp was not\nreally a demonstration of mourning or a symbol of respect, but only\nthe pageantry of scorn and hatred and vengeance. The sarcasm would\nstrike home with the more force since it fell on men's ears in the\nheavy, lingering lines of the elegy, as the exultant patriot\nexclaimed,\n\n  \"How hath the oppressor ceased--the golden city ceased!\n  The Lord hath broken the staff of the wicked--the sceptre of the\n        rulers,\" etc.[90]\n\n  [90] Isa. xiv. 4 _ff._\n\nA special characteristic of the five elegies that make up the Book of\nLamentations is their alphabetical arrangement. Each elegy consists of\ntwenty-two verses, the same number as that of the letters in the\nHebrew alphabet. All but the last are acrostics, the initial letter of\neach verse following the order of the alphabet. In the third elegy\nevery line in the verse begins with the same letter. According to\nanother way of reckoning, this poem consists of sixty-six verses\narranged in triplets, each of which not only follows the order of the\nalphabet with its first letter, but also has this initial letter\nrepeated at the beginning of each of its three verses. Alphabetical\nacrostics are not unknown elsewhere in the Old Testament; there are\nseveral instances of them in the Psalms.[91] The method is generally\nthought to have been adopted as an expedient to assist the memory.\nClearly it is a somewhat artificial arrangement, cramping the\nimagination of the poet; and it is regarded by some as a sign of\nliterary decadence. Whatever view we may take of it from the\nstandpoint of purely artistic criticism, we can derive one important\nconclusion concerning the mental attitude of the writer from a\nconsideration of the elaborate structure of the verse. Although this\npoetry is evidently inspired by deep emotion--emotion so profound that\nit cannot even be restrained by the stiffest vesture--still the author\nis quite self-possessed: he is not at all over-mastered by his\nfeelings; what he says is the outcome of deliberation and reflection.\n\n  [91] _E.g._, Psalms ix., x., xxv., xxxiv., xxxvii., cxix., cxlv.\n\nPassing from the form to the substance of the elegy, our attention is\narrested on the threshold of the more serious enquiry by another link\nof connection between the two. In accordance with a custom of which we\nhave other instances in the Hebrew Bible, the first word in the text\nis taken as the title of the book. The haphazard name is more\nappropriate in this case than it sometimes proves to be, for the first\nword of the first chapter--the original Hebrew for which is the Jewish\ntitle of the book--is \"How.\" Now this is a characteristic word for the\ncommencement of an elegy. Three out of the five elegies in\nLamentations begin with it; so does the mock elegy in Isaiah.\nMoreover, it is not only suggestive of the form of a certain kind of\npoetry; it is a hint of the spirit in which that poetry is conceived;\nit strikes the key-note for all that follows. Therefore it may not be\nsuperfluous for us to consider the significance of this little word in\nthe present connection.\n\nIn the first place, it is a sort of note of exclamation prefixed to\nthe sentence it introduces. Thus it infuses an emotional element into\nthe statements which follow it. The word is a relic of the most\nprimitive form of language. Judging from the sounds produced by\nanimals and the cries of little children, we should conclude that the\nfirst approach to speech would be a simple expression of\nexcitement--a scream of pain, a shout of delight, a yell of rage, a\nshriek of surprise. Next to the mere venting of feeling comes the\nutterance of desire--a request, either for the possession of some\ncoveted boon, or for deliverance from something objectionable. Thus\nthe dog barks for his bone, or barks again to be freed from his chain;\nand the child cries for a toy, or for protection from a terror. If\nthis is correct it will be only at the third stage of speech that we\nshall reach statements of fact pure and simple. Conversely, it may be\nargued that as the progress of cultivation develops the perceptive and\nreasoning faculties and corresponding forms of speech, the primitive\nemotional and volitional types of language must recede. Our phlegmatic\nEnglish temperament predisposes us to take this view. It is not easy\nfor us to sympathise with the expressiveness of an excitable Oriental\npeople. What to them is perfectly natural and not at all inconsistent\nwith true manliness strikes us as a childish weakness. Is not this a\ntrifle insular? The emotions constitute as essential a part of human\nnature as the observing and reasoning faculties, and it cannot be\nproved that to stifle them beneath a calm exterior is more right and\nproper than to give them a certain adequate expression. That this\nexpression may be found even among ourselves is apparent from the\nsingular fact that the English, who are the most prosaic people in\ntheir conduct, have given the world more good poetry than any other\nnation of modern times; a fact which, perhaps, may be explained on the\nprinciple that the highest poetry is not the rank outgrowth of\nirregulated passions, but the cultivated fruit of deep-rooted ideas.\nStill these ideas must be warmed with feeling before they will\ngerminate. Much more, when we are not merely interested in poetic\nliterature, when we are in earnest about practical actions, an\nartificial restraint of the emotions must be mischievous. No doubt the\nunimpassioned style has its mission--in allaying a panic, for example.\nBut it will not inspire men to attempt a forlorn hope. Society will\nnever be saved by hysterics; but neither will it ever be saved by\nstatistics. It may be that the exclamation _how_ is a feeble survival\nof the savage _howl_. Nevertheless the emotional expression, when\nregulated as the taming of the sound suggests, will always play a very\nreal part in the life of mankind, even at the most highly developed\nstage of civilisation.\n\nIn the second place, it is to be observed that this word introduces a\ntone of vagueness into the sentences which it opens. A description\nbeginning as these elegies begin would not serve the purpose of an\ninventory of the ruins of Jerusalem such as an insurance society would\ndemand in the present day. The facts are viewed through an atmosphere\nof feeling, so that their chronological order is confused and their\ndetails melt one into another. That is not to say that they are robbed\nof all value. Pure impressionism may reveal truths which no hard,\nexact picture can render clear to us. These elegies make us see the\ndesolation of Jerusalem more vividly than the most accurate\nphotographs of the scenes referred to could have done, because they\nhelp us to enter into the passion of the event.\n\nWith this idea of vagueness, however, there is joined a sense of\nvastness. The note of exclamation is also a note of admiration. The\nlanguage is indefinite in part for the very reason that the scene\nbeggars description. The cynical spirit which would reduce all life\nto the level of a Dutch landscape is here excluded by the\noverwhelming mass of the troubles bewailed. The cataract of sorrow\nawes us with the greatness of its volume and the thunder of its fall.\n\nFrom suggestions thus rising out of a consideration of the opening\nword of the elegy we may be led on to a perception of similar traits\nin the body of this poetry. It is emotional in character; it is vague\nin description; and it sets before us visions of vast woe.\n\nBut now it is quite clear that poetry such as this must be something\nelse than the wild expression of grief. It is a product of reflection.\nThe acute stage of suffering is over. The writer is musing upon a sad\npast; or if at times he is reflecting on a present state of distress,\nstill he is regarding this as the result of more violent scenes, in\nthe midst of which the last thing a man would think of doing would be\nto sit down and compose a poem. This reflective poetry will give us\nemotion, still warm, but shot with thought.\n\nThe reflectiveness of the elegy does not take the direction of\nphilosophy. It does not speculate on the mystery of suffering. It does\nnot ask such obstinate questions, or engage in such vexatious\ndialectics, as circle about the problem of evil in the Book of Job.\nLeaving those difficult matters to the theologians who care to wrestle\nwith them, the elegist is satisfied to dwell on his theme in a quiet,\nmeditative mood, and to permit his ideas to flow on spontaneously as\nin a reverie. Thus it happens that, artificial as is the form of his\nverse, the underlying thought seems to be natural and unforced. In\nthis way he represents to us the afterglow of sunset which follows the\nday of storm and terror.\n\nThe afterglow is beautiful--that is what the elegy makes evident. It\npaints the beauty of sorrow. It is able to do so only because it\ncontemplates the scene indirectly, as portrayed in the mirror of\nthought. An immediate vision of pain is itself wholly painful. If the\nagony is intense, and if no relief can be offered, we instinctively\nturn aside from the sickening sight. Only a brutalised people could\nfind amusement in the ghastly spectacle of the Roman amphitheatre. It\nis cited as a proof of Domitian's diabolical cruelty that the emperor\nwould have dying slaves brought before him in order that he might\nwatch the facial expression of their last agonies. Such scenes are not\nfit subjects for art. The famous group of the _Laocoon_ is considered\nby many to have passed the boundaries of legitimate representation in\nthe terror and torment of its subject; and _Ecce Homos_ and pictures\nof the crucifixion can only be defended from a similar condemnation\nwhen the profound spiritual significance of the subjects is made to\ndominate the bare torture. Faced squarely, in the glare of day, pain\nand death are grim ogres, the ugliness of which no amount of sentiment\ncan disguise. You can no more find poetry in a present Inferno than\nflowers in the red vomit of a live volcano. Men who have seen war tell\nus they have discovered nothing attractive in its dreadful scenes of\nblood and anguish and fury. What could be more revolting to\ncontemplate than the sack of a city,--fire and sword in every street,\npublic buildings razed to the ground, honoured monuments defaced,\nhomes ravaged, children torn from the arms of their parents, young\ngirls dragged away to a horrible fate, lust, robbery, slaughter\nrampant without shame or restraint, the wild beast in the conquerors\nlet loose, and a whole army, suddenly freed from all rules of\ndiscipline, behaving like a swarm of demons just escaped from hell.\nTo think of cultivating art or poetry in the presence of such scenes\nwould be as absurd as to attempt a musical entertainment among the\nshrieks of lost souls.\n\nThe case assumes another aspect when we pass from the region of\npersonal observation to that of reflection. There is no beauty in the\nsight of a captured castle immediately after the siege which ended in\nits fall, its battlements shattered, its walls seamed with cracks,\nhere and there a breach, rough and ragged, and strewn with stones and\ndust. And yet, by slow degrees and in imperceptible ways, time and\nnature will transform the scene until moss-grown walls and ivy-covered\ntowers acquire a new beauty only seen among ruins. Nature heals and\ntime softens, and between them they throw a mantle of grace over the\nscars of what were once ugly, gaping wounds. Pain as it recedes into\nmemory is transmuted into pathos; and pathos always fascinates us with\nsome approach to beauty. If it is true that\n\n  \"Poets learn in sorrow what they teach in song,\"\n\nmust it not be also the fact that sorrow while inspiring song is\nitself glorified thereby? To use suffering merely as the food of\naestheticism would be to degrade it immeasurably. We should rather put\nthe case the other way. Poetry saves sorrow from becoming sordid by\nrevealing its beauty, and in epic heroism even its sublimity. It helps\nus to perceive how much more depth there is in life than was apparent\nunder the glare and glamour of prosperity. Some of us may recollect\nhow shallow and shadowy our own lives were felt to be in the simple\ndays before we had tasted the bitter cup. There was a hunger then for\nsome deeper experience which seemed to lie beyond our reach. While we\nnaturally shrank from entering the _via dolorosa_, we were dimly\nconscious that the pilgrims who trod its rough stones had discovered a\nsecret that remained hidden from us, and we coveted their attainment,\nalthough we did not envy the bitter experience by which it had been\nacquired. This feeling may have been due in part to the foolish\nsentimentality that is sometimes indulged in by extreme youth; but\nthat is not the whole explanation of it, for when our path conducts us\nfrom the flat, monotonous plain of ease and comfort into a region of\nchasms and torrents, we do indeed discover an unsuspected depth in\nlife. Now it is the mission of the poetry of sorrow to interpret this\ndiscovery to us. At least it should enable us to read the lessons of\nexperience in the purest light. It is not the task of the poet to\nsupply a categorical answer to the riddle of the universe; stupendous\nas that task would be, it must be regarded as quite a prosaic one.\nPoetry will not fit exact answers to set questions, for poetry is not\nscience; but poetry will open deaf ears and anoint blind eyes to\nreceive the voices and visions that haunt the depths of experience.\nThus it leads on to--\n\n                  \"that blessed mood,\n  In which the burden of the mystery,\n  In which the heavy and the weary weight\n  Of all this unintelligible world\n  Is lightened.\"\n\nIt may not be obvious to the reader of an elegy that this function is\ndischarged by such a poem, for elegiac poetry seems to aim at nothing\nmore than the thoughtful expression of grief. Certainly it is neither\ndidactic nor metaphysical. Nevertheless in weaving a wreath of\nimagination round the sufferings it bewails it cannot but clothe them\nwith a rich significance. It would seem to be the mission of the five\ninspired elegies contained in the Book of Lamentations thus to\ninterpret the sorrows of the Jews, and through them the sorrows of\nmankind.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n_THE ORIGIN OF THE POEMS_\n\n\nAs we pass out of Jerusalem by the Damascus Gate, and follow the main\nnorth road, our attention is immediately arrested by a low hill of\ngrey rock sprinkled with wild flowers, which is now attracting\npeculiar notice because it has been recently identified with the\n\"Golgotha\" on which our Lord was crucified. In the face of this hill a\ndark recess--faintly suggestive of the eye-socket, if we may suppose\nthe title \"Place of a skull\" to have arisen from a fancied resemblance\nto a goat's skull--is popularly known as \"Jeremiah's grotto,\" and held\nby current tradition to be the retreat where the prophet composed the\nfive elegies that constitute our Book of Lamentations. Clambering with\ndifficulty over the loose stones that mark the passage of winter\ntorrents, and reaching the floor of the cave, we are at once struck by\nthe suspicious aptness of the \"sacred site.\" In a solitude singularly\nretired, considering the proximity of a great centre of population,\nthe spectator commands a full view of the whole city, its embattled\nwalls immediately confronting him, with clustered roofs and domes in\nthe rear. What place could have been more suitable for a poetic lament\nover the ruins of fallen Jerusalem? Moreover, when we take into\naccount the dread associations derived from the later history of the\nCrucifixion, what could be more fitting than that the mourning\npatriot's tears for the woes of his city should have been shed so near\nto the very spot where her rejected Saviour was to suffer? But\nunfortunately history cannot be constructed on the lines of harmonious\nsentiments. When we endeavour to trace the legend that attributes the\nLamentations to Jeremiah back to its source we lose the stream some\ncenturies before we arrive at the time of the great prophet. No doubt\nfor ages the tradition was undisputed; it is found both in Jewish and\nin Christian literature--in the Talmud and in the Fathers. Jerome\npopularised it in the Church by transferring it to the Vulgate, and\nbefore this Josephus set it down as an accepted fact. It is pretty\nevident that each of these parallel currents of opinion may have been\nderived from the Septuagint, which introduces the book with the\nsentence, \"And it came to pass, after Israel had been carried away\ncaptive, and Jerusalem had become desolate, that Jeremiah sat weeping,\nand lamented with this lamentation over Jerusalem, and said,\" etc.\nHere our upward progress in tracking the tradition is stayed; no more\nancient authority is to be found. Yet we are still three hundred years\nfrom the time of Jeremiah! Of course it is only reasonable to suppose\nthat the translators of the Greek version did not make their addition\nto the Hebrew text at random, or without what they deemed sufficient\ngrounds. Possibly they were following some documentary authority, or,\nat least, some venerable tradition. Of this we know nothing.\nMeanwhile, it must be observed that no such statement exists in the\nHebrew Bible; and it would never have been omitted if it had been\nthere originally.\n\nOne other witness has been adduced, but only to furnish testimony of\nan obscure and ambiguous character. In 2 Chron. xxxv. 25 we read,\n\"And Jeremiah lamented for Josiah; and all the singing men and singing\nwomen spake of Josiah in their lamentations, unto this day; and they\nmade them an ordinance in Israel; and, behold, they are written in the\nlamentations.\" Josephus, and Jerome after him, appear to assume that\nthe chronicler is here referring to our Book of Lamentations. That is\nvery questionable; for the words describe an elegy on Josiah, and our\nbook contains no such elegy. Can we suppose that the chronicler\nassumed that inasmuch as Jeremiah was believed to have written a\nlament for the mourners to chant in commemoration of Josiah, this\nwould be one of the poems preserved in the collection of Jerusalem\nelegies familiar to readers of his day? Be that as it may, the\nchronicler wrote in the Grecian period, and therefore his statements\ncome some long time after the date of the prophet.\n\nIn this dearth of external testimony we turn to the book itself for\nindications of origin and authorship. The poems make no claim to have\nbeen the utterances of Jeremiah; they do not supply us with their\nauthor's name. Therefore there can be no question of genuineness, no\nroom for an ugly charge of \"forgery,\" or a delicate ascription of\n\"pseudonymity,\" The case is not comparable to that of 2 Peter, or even\nto that of Ecclesiastes--the one of which directly claims apostolic\nauthority, and the other a \"literary\" association with the name of\nSolomon. It is rather to be paralleled with the case of the Epistle to\nthe Hebrews, a purely anonymous work. Still there is much which seems\nto point to Jeremiah as the author of these intensely pathetic\nelegies. They are not like MacPherson's _Ossian_; nobody can question\ntheir antiquity. If they were not quite contemporaneous with the\nscenes they describe so graphically they cannot have originated much\nlater; for they are like the low wailings with which the storm sinks\nto rest, reminding us how recently the thunder was rolling and the\nbesom of destruction sweeping over the land. Among the prophets of\nIsrael Jeremiah was the voice crying in the wilderness of national\nruin; it is natural to suppose that he too was the poet who poured out\nsad thoughts of memory in song at a later time when sorrow had leisure\nfor reflection. His prophecies would lead us to conclude that no Jew\nof those dark days could have experienced keener pangs of grief at the\nincomparable woes of his nation. He was the very incarnation of\npatriotic mourning. Who then would be more likely to have produced the\nnational lament? Here we seem to meet again none other than the man\nwho exclaimed, \"Oh that I could comfort myself against sorrow! my\nheart is faint within me\"[92] and again, \"Oh that my head were waters,\nand mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for\nthe slain of the daughter of my people.\"[93] Many points of\nresemblance between the known writings of Jeremiah and these poems may\nbe detected. Thus Jeremiah's \"Virgin daughter\" of God's people\nreappears as the \"Virgin daughter of Judah.\" In both the writer is\noppressed with fear as well as grief; in both he especially denounces\nclerical vices, the sins of the two rival lines of religious leaders,\nthe priests and the prophets; in both he appeals to God for\nretribution. There is a remarkable likeness in tone and temper\nthroughout between the two series of writings. It would be possible to\nadduce many purely verbal marks of similarity; the commentator on\nLamentations most frequently illustrates the meaning of a word by\nreferring to a parallel usage in Jeremiah.\n\n  [92] Jer. viii. 18.\n\n  [93] Jer. ix. 1.\n\nOn the other hand, several facts raise difficulties in the way of our\naccepting of the hypothesis of a common authorship. The verbal\nargument is precarious at best; it can only be fully appreciated by\nthe specialist, and if accepted by the general reader, it must be\ntaken on faith. Of course this last point is no valid objection to the\nreal worth of the argument in itself; it cannot be maintained that\nnothing is true which may not be reduced to the level of the meanest\nintelligence, or the \"differential calculus\" would be a baseless\nfable. But when the specialists disagree, even the uninitiated have\nsome excuse for holding the case to be not proved for either side; and\nit is thus with the resemblances and the differences between Jeremiah\nand Lamentations, long lists of phrases used in common being balanced\nwith equally long lists of peculiarities found in one only of the two\nbooks in question. The strongest objection to the theory that Jeremiah\nwas the author of the Lamentations, however, is one that can be more\nreadily grasped. These poems are most elaborately artistic in form,\nnot to say artificial. Now the objection which is roused by that fact\nis not simply due to the loose and less shapely construction of the\nprophecies; for it may justly be urged that the literary designs\nentertained by the prophet in the leisure of his later years may have\nled him to cultivate a style which would have been quite unsuitable\nfor his practical preaching or for the political pamphlets he used to\nfling off in the heat of conflict. It originates in deeper\npsychological contradictions. Is it possible that the man who had shed\nbitterest tears, as from his very heart, in the dismal reality of\nmisery, could play with his troubles in fanciful acrostics? Can we\nimagine a leading actor in the tragedy turning the events through\nwhich he had passed into materials for aesthetic treatment? Can we\ncredit this of so intense a soul as Jeremiah? The composition of _In\nMemoriam_ may be cited as an instance of the production of highly\nartistic poetry under the influence of keen personal sorrow. But the\ncase is not parallel; for Tennyson was a passive mourner over the loss\nof a friend under circumstances with which he had no connection, while\nJeremiah had contended strenuously for years on the field of action.\nCould a man with such a history have set himself to work up its most\ndoleful experiences into the embroidery of a peculiarly artificial\nform of versification? That is the gravest difficulty. Other\nobjections of minor weight follow. In the third elegy Jeremiah would\nseem to be giving more prominence to his own personality than we\nshould have expected of the brave, unselfish prophet. In the fourth\nthe writer appears to associate himself with those Jews who were\ndisappointed in expecting deliverance from an Egyptian alliance, when\nhe complains--\n\n  \"Our eyes do yet fail in looking for our vain help:\n  In watching we have watched for a nation that could not save.\"[94]\n\n  [94] iv. 17.\n\nWould Jeremiah, who bade the Jews bow to the scourge of Jehovah's\nchastisement and look for no earthly deliverer, thus confess\nparticipation in the worldly policy which he, in common with all the\ntrue prophets, had denounced as faithless and disobedient? Then, while\nsharing Jeremiah's condemnation of the priests and prophets, the\nwriter appears to have only commiseration for the fate of the poor\nweak king Zedekiah.[95] This is very different from Jeremiah's\ntreatment of him.[96]\n\n  [95] iv. 20.\n\n  [96] Jer. lii. 2, 3.\n\nIt is not a serious objection that our poet says of Zion,\n\n  \"Yea, her prophets find no vision from the Lord,\"[97]\n\nwhile we know that Jeremiah had visions after the destruction of\nJerusalem,[98] because the general condition may still have been one\ncharacterised by the silencing of the many prophets with whose oracles\nthe Jews had been accustomed to solace themselves in view of\nthreatened calamities; nor that he exclaims,\n\n  \"Shall the priest and the prophet be slain in the sanctuary of the\n        Lord?\"[99]\n\nalthough Jeremiah makes no mention of this twofold assassination,\nbecause we have no justification for the assumption that he recorded\nevery horror of the great tragedy; nor, again, that the author is\nevidently familiar with the Book of Deuteronomy, and refers frequently\nto the \"Song of Moses\" in particular, for this is just what we might\nhave expected of Jeremiah; and yet these and other similar but even\nless conclusive points have been brought forward as difficulties.\nPerhaps it is a more perplexing in view of the traditional hypothesis,\nthat the poet appears to have made use of the writings of Ezekiel.\nThus the allusion to the prophets who have \"seen visions ... of vanity\nand foolishness,\"[100] points to the fuller description of these men\nin the writings of the prophet of the exile, where the completeness of\nthe picture shews that the priority is with Ezekiel.[101] Similarly\nthe \"perfection of beauty\" ascribed to the daughter of Jerusalem in\nthe second elegy[102] reminds us of the similar phrase that occurs\nmore than once in Ezekiel.[103] Still, that prophet wrote before the\ntime to which the Lamentations introduce us, and it cannot be affirmed\nthat Jeremiah could not have seen his writings, or would not have\ncondescended to echo a phrase from them. A difficulty of a broader\ncharacter must be felt in the fact that the poems themselves give us\nno hint of Jeremiah. The appearance of the five elegies in the\n_Hagiographa_ without any introductory notice is a grave objection to\nthe theory of a Jeremiah authorship. If so famous a prophet had\ncomposed them, would not this have been recorded? Even in the\nSeptuagint, where they are associated with Jeremiah, they are not\ntranslated by the same hand as the version of the prophet's\nacknowledged works. It may be that none of the objections which have\nbeen adduced against the later tradition can be called final; nor when\nregarded in their total force do they absolutely forbid the\npossibility that Jeremiah was the author of the Lamentations. But then\nthe question is not so much one of possibility as one of probability.\nWe must remember that we are dealing with anonymous poems that make no\nclaim upon any particular author, and that we have no pleas whatever,\nspecial or more general, on which to defend the guesses of a much\nlater and quite uncritical age, when people cultivated a habit of\nattaching every shred of literature that had come down from their\nancestors to some famous name.\n\n  [97] ii. 9.\n\n  [98] _E.g._ Jer. xlii. 7.\n\n  [99] ii. 20.\n\n  [100] ii. 14.\n\n  [101] _E.g._ Ezek. xii. 24, xiii. 6, 7, xxii. 28.\n\n  [102] Lam. ii. 15.\n\n  [103] Ezek. xxvii. 3, xxviii. 12.\n\nFailing Jeremiah, it is not possible to hit upon any other known\nperson with the least assurance. Some have followed Bunsen in his\nconjecture that Baruch the scribe may have been the author of the\npoems. Others have suggested a member of the family of Shaphan, in\nwhich Jeremiah found his most loyal friends.[104]\n\n  [104] See Jer. xxvi. 24, xxix. 3_ff_, xl. 5.\n\nIt is much questioned whether the five elegies are the work of one\nman. The second, the third, and the fourth follow a slightly different\nalphabetical arrangement from that which is employed in the first--in\nreversing the order of two letters,[105] while the internal structure\nof the verses in the third shews another variation--the threefold\nrepetition of the acrostic. Then the personality of the poet emerges\nmore distinctly in the third elegy as the centre of interest--a marked\ncontrast to the method of the other poems. Lastly, the fifth differs\nfrom its predecessors in several respects. Its lines are shorter; it\nis not an acrostic; it is chiefly devoted to the insults heaped upon\nthe Jews by their enemies; and it seems to belong to a later time, for\nwhile the four previous poems treat of the siege of Jerusalem and its\naccompanying troubles, this one is concerned with the subsequent state\nof servitude, and reflects on the ruin of the nation across some\ninterval of time. Thus the poet cries--\n\n  \"Wherefore doest thou forget us for ever,\n  And forsake us _so long time_?\"[106]\n\n  [105] [Hebrew: ayin] and [Hebrew: pe].\n\n  [106] v. 20.\n\nA recent attempt to assign the last two elegies to the age of the\nMaccabees has entirely broken down. The points of agreement with that\nage which have been adduced will fit the Babylonian period equally\nwell, and the most significant marks of the later time are entirely\nabsent. Is it conceivable that a description of the persecution by\nAntiochus Epiphanes would contain no hint of the martyr fidelity of\nthe devout Jews to their law which was so gloriously maintained under\nthe Maccabees? The fourth and fifth elegies are as completely silent\non this subject as the earlier elegies.\n\nThe evidence that points to any diversity of authorship is very\nfeeble. The fifth elegy may have been written years later than the\nrest of the book, and yet it may have come from the same source, for\nthe example of Tennyson shews that the gift of poetry is not always\nconfined to but a brief interval in the poet life. The other\ndistinctions are not nearly so marked as some that may be observed in\nthe recognised poems of a single author--for example, the amazing\ndifferences between the smooth style of _The Idylls of the King_ and\nthe quaint dialect of _The Northern Farmer_. Though some differences\nof vocabulary have been discovered, the resemblances between all the\nfive poems are much more striking. In motive and spirit and feeling\nthey are perfectly agreed. While therefore in our ignorance of the\norigin of the Lamentations, and in recognition of the variations that\nhave been indicated, we cannot deny that they may have been collected\nfrom the utterances of two or even three inspired souls, neither are\nwe by any means forced to assent to this opinion; and under these\ncircumstances it will be justifiable as well as convenient to refer to\nthe authorship of Lamentations in terms expressive of a single\nindividual. One thing is fairly certain. The author was a\ncontemporary, an eye-witness of the frightful calamities he bewailed.\nWith all their artificiality of structure these elegies are the\noutpourings of a heart moved by a near vision of the scenes of the\nBabylonian invasion. The swift, vivid pictures of the siege and its\naccompanying miseries force upon our minds the conclusion that the\npoet must have moved in the thick of the events he narrates so\ngraphically, although, unlike Jeremiah, he does not seem to have been\na leading actor in them. Children cry to their mothers for bread, and\nfaint with hunger at every street corner; the ghastly rumour goes\nforth that a mother has boiled her baby; elders sit on the ground in\nsilence; young maidens hang their heads despairing; princes tremble in\ntheir helplessness; the enemy break through the walls, carry havoc\ninto the city, insolently trample the sacred courts of the temple;\neven the priest and the prophet do not escape in the indiscriminate\ncarnage; wounded people are seen, with blood upon their garments,\nwandering aimlessly like blind men; the temple is destroyed, its rich\ngold bedimmed with smoke, and the city herself left waste and\ndesolate, while the exultant victors pour ridicule over the misery of\ntheir prey. A later generation would have blurred the outline of these\nscenes, regarding them through the shifting mists of rumour, with more\nor less indistinctness. Besides, the motive for the composition of\nsuch elegies would vanish with the lapse of time. Still some few years\nmust be allowed for the patriot's brooding over the scenes he had\nwitnessed, until the memory of them had mellowed sufficiently for them\nto become the subjects of song. The fifth elegy, at all events,\nimplies a considerable interval. Jerusalem was destroyed in the year\nB.C. 587; therefore we may safely date the poems from about B.C. 550\nonwards--_i.e._, at some time during the second half of the sixth\ncentury. What is of more moment for us to know is that we have here no\nfalsetto notes, such as we may sometimes detect in Virgil's exquisite\ndescriptions of the siege of Troy, for the poet has witnessed the\nfiery ordeal the recollection of which now inspires his song. Thus out\nof the unequalled woes of Jerusalem destroyed he has provided for all\nages the typical, divinely inspired expression of sorrow--primarily\nthe expression of sorrow--and then associated with this some pregnant\nhints both of its dark relationship to sin and of its higher\nconnection with the purposes of God.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n_THE THEME_\n\n\nNo more pathetic subject ever inspired a poet than that which became\nthe theme of the Lamentations. Wave after wave of invasion had swept\nover Jerusalem, until at length the miserable city had been reduced to\na heap of ruins. After the decisive defeat of the Egyptians at the\ngreat battle of Carchemish during the reign of Jehoiakim,\nNebuchadnezzar broke into Jerusalem and carried off some of the sacred\nvessels from the temple, leaving a disorganised country at the mercy\nof the wild tribes of Bedouin from beyond the Jordan. Three months\nafter the accession of Jehoiakin, the son of Jehoiakim, the Chaldaeans\nagain visited the city, pillaged the temple and the royal palace, and\nsent the first band of captives, consisting of the very elite of the\ncitizens, with Ezekiel among them, into captivity at Babylon. This was\nonly the beginning of troubles. Zedekiah, who was set up as a mere\nvassal king, intrigued with Pharaoh Hophra, a piece of folly which\ncalled down upon himself and his people the savage vengeance of\nNebuchadnezzar. Jerusalem now suffered all the horrors of a siege,\nwhich lasted for a year and a half. Famine and pestilence preyed upon\nthe inhabitants; and yet the Jews were holding out with a stubborn\nresistance, when the invaders effected an entrance by night, and were\nencamped in the temple court before the astonished king was aware of\ntheir presence. Zedekiah then imitated the secrecy of his enemies.\nWith a band of followers he crept out of one of the eastern gates, and\nfled down the defile towards the Jordan; but he was overtaken near\nJericho, and conveyed a prisoner to Riblah; his sons were killed in\nhis very presence, his eyes were burnt out, and the wretched man sent\nin chains to Babylon. The outrages perpetrated against the citizens at\nJerusalem as well as the sufferings of the fugitives were such as are\nonly possible in barbarous warfare. Finally the city was razed to the\nground and her famous temple burnt.\n\nThe Lamentations bewail the fall of a city. In this respect they are\nunlike the normal type of elegiac poetry. As a rule, the elegy is\npersonal in character and individualistic, mourning the untimely death\nof some one beloved friend of the writer. It is the revelation of a\nprivate grief, although with a poet's privilege its author calls upon\nhis readers to share his sorrow. In the classic model of this order of\nverse Milton justifies the intrusion of his distress upon the peace of\nnature by exclaiming--\n\n  \"For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime,\n  Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer.\n  Who would not sing for Lycidas?\"\n\nAnd Shelley, while treating his theme in an ethereal, fantastic way,\nstill represents Alastor, the Spirit of Solitude, in the person of one\nwho has just died, when he cries--\n\n                            \"But thou art fled,\n  Like some frail exhalation which the dawn\n  Robes in its golden beams,--ah! thou hast fled!\n  The brave, the gentle, and the beautiful,\n  The child of grace and genius.\"\n\nGray's well-known elegy, it is true, is not confined to the fate of a\nsingle individual; the churchyard suggests the pathetic reflections of\nthe poet on the imaginary lives and characters of many past\ninhabitants of the village. Nevertheless these cross the stage one by\none; the village itself has not been destroyed, like Goldsmith's\n\"Sweet Auburn.\" Jeremiah's lamentation on the death of Josiah must\nhave been a personal elegy; so was the scornful lament over the king\nof Babylon in Isaiah. But now we have a different kind of subject in\nthe Book of Lamentations. Here it is the fate of Jerusalem, the fate\nof the city itself as well as that of its citizens, that is deplored.\nTo rouse the imagination and awaken the sympathy of the reader Zion is\npersonified, and thus the poetry is assimilated in form to the normal\nelegy. Still it is important for us to take note of this\ndistinguishing trait of the Lamentations; they bewail the ruin of a\ncity.\n\nPoetry inspired with this intention must acquire a certain breadth not\nfound in more personal effusions. Too much indulgence in private grief\ncannot but produce a narrowing effect upon the mind. Intense pain is\nas selfish as intense pleasure. We may mourn our dead until we have no\nroom left in our sympathies for the great ocean of troubles among the\nliving that surges round the little island of our personal interests.\n\nThis misfortune is escaped in the Lamentations. Close as is the poet's\nrelations with the home of his childhood, there is still some approach\nto altruism in his lament over the desolation of Jerusalem viewed as a\nwhole, rather than over the death of his immediate friends alone.\nThere is a largeness, too, in it. We find it difficult to recover the\nancient feeling for the city. Our more important towns are so huge\nand shapeless that the inhabitants fail to grasp the unity, the\nwholeness of the wilderness of streets and houses; and yet they so\neffectually overshadow the smaller towns that these places do not\nventure to assume much civic pride. Besides, one general tendency of\nmodern life is individualistic. Even the more recent attempts to rouse\ninterest in comprehensive social questions are conceived in a spirit\nof sympathy for the individual rights and needs of the people, and do\nnot spring from any great concern for the prosperity of the\ncorporation as such. No doubt this is an indication of a movement in a\nright direction. The old civic idea was too abstract; it sacrificed\nthe citizens to the city, beautifying the public buildings in the most\ncostly manner, while the people were crowded in miserable dens to rot\nand die unseen and unpitied. We substitute sanitation for splendour.\nThis is more sensible, more practical, more humane, if it is more\nprosaic; for life is something else than poetry. Still it may be worth\nwhile asking whether in aiming at a useful, homely object it is so\nessential to abandon the old ideal altogether, because it cannot be\ndenied that the price we pay is seen in a certain dinginess and\ncommonness of living. Is it necessary that philanthropy should always\nremain Philistine?\n\nThe largeness of view which breaks upon us when we begin to think of\nthe city as a whole rather than only of a number of isolated\nindividuals is more than a perception of mass and magnitude. The city\nis an organism; and not like an animal of the lower orders, such as\nthe _anelids_ or _centipedes_, in which every segment is simply a\n_replica_ of its neighbour, it is an organism maintained in efficiency\nby means of a great variety of mutual ministeries. Thus it is a unit\nin itself more elaborately differentiated, and therefore in a sense\nhigher in the scale of being than its constituent elements, the\nindividual inhabitants. The destruction of a city constituted in this\nway is a serious loss to the world. Even if no one inhabitant is\nkilled, and quite apart from the waste of property and the ruin of\ncommerce, the dissolution of the organism leaves a tremendous gap. The\nscattered people may acquire a new prosperity in the land of their\nexile, but still the city will have vanished. The Jews survived the\ndestruction of Jerusalem; yet who shall estimate the loss that this\ndestruction of their national capital involved?\n\nThen the city being a definite organic unit has its own history, a\nhistory which is immensely more than the sum of the biographies of its\ninhabitants--stretching down from remote ages, and joining the distant\npast with present days. Here, then, time adds to the largeness of the\ncity idea. The brevity of life seems to assign a petty part to the\nindividual. But that brevity vanishes in the long, continuous story of\nan ancient city. A man may well be proud of his connection with such a\nrecord, unless it be one of wickedness and shame; and even in that\ncase his relations to a great city deepen and widen his life, though\nthe result may be, as it was with the devout Jew, to induce grief and\nhumiliation. But Jerusalem had her records of glory as well as her\ntales of shame. The city of David and Solomon held garnered stores of\nlegend and history, in the rich memories of which each of her children\nhad a heritage. The overthrow of Jerusalem was the dissipation of a\ngreat inheritance.\n\nAnd this is not all. The city has its own peculiar character--a\ncharacter which is not only more than a summary of the morals and\nmanners of the men and women who live in it, but also unique when\ncompared with other cities. Every city that can boast of real civic\nlife has its distinctive individuality; and often this is as striking\nas the individuality of any private person. Birmingham is very unlike\nManchester; nobody could mistake Glasgow for Edinburgh. London, Paris,\nBerlin, Rome, Melbourne, New York--each of these cities is unique. The\nparticular city may be said to be the only specimen of its kind. If\none is blotted out the type is lost; there is no duplicate. Athens and\nSparta, Rome and Carthage, Florence and Venice, were rivals which\ncould never take the place of one another. Most assuredly Jerusalem\nstood alone, stamped with a character which no other place in the\nworld approached, and charged with a perfectly unique mission. For\nsuch a city to vanish off the face of the earth was the impoverishment\nof the world in the loss of what no nation in all the four continents\ncould ever supply.\n\nIn saying this we must be careful to avoid the anachronism of reading\ninto the present situation the after history of the sacred city and\nthe character therein evolved. In the days before the exile Jerusalem\nwas not the holy place that Ezra and Nehemiah subsequently laboured to\nmake of it. Still looking back across the centuries we can see what\nperhaps the contemporaries could not discover, that the peculiar\ndestiny of Jerusalem was already shaping itself in history. At the\ntime, to the patriotic devotion of the mourning Jews, she was their\nold home, the happy dwelling-place of their childhood, the shrine of\ntheir fathers' sepulchres--Nehemiah's thought about the city even at a\nlater date;[107] in a word, the ancient centre of national life and\nunion, strength and glory. But another and a higher meaning was\nbeginning to gather about the word Jerusalem, a meaning which has come\nin course of time to give this city a place quite solitary and\nunrivalled in all history. Jerusalem is now revered as the religious\ncentre of the world's life. Even in this early age she was beginning\nto earn her lofty character. Josiah's reformation had so far succeeded\nthat the temple of Solomon had been pronounced the centre of the\nworship of Jehovah. Then these elegies bear witness to the importance\nof the national festivals, which were all held at the capital, and\nwhich were all of a religious nature. It is impossible to conjecture\nwhat would have been the course of the religious history of the world\nif Jerusalem had been blotted out for ever at this period of the life\nof the city. More than five centuries later Jesus Christ declared that\nthe _time_ had come when neither at the Samaritan mountain nor at\nJerusalem should men worship the Father, because God is spirit and can\nonly be worshipped in spirit and in truth. Thus the possibility of\nthis spiritual worship which was independent of the sanctity of any\nplace was a question of time. The time for it had only just arrived\nwhen our Lord made His great declaration. Of course the calendar could\nnot rule this matter; it was not essentially an affair of dates. But\nthe world required all those intervening ages to ripen into fitness\nfor the lofty act of purely spiritual worship; and even then the great\nadvance was not made by a process of simple development. It was\nnecessary for Christ to come, both to reveal the higher nature of\nworship by revealing the higher nature of Him who was the object of\nworship, and also to bestow the spiritual grace through which men and\nwomen could practise the true worship. Therefore these very words of\nour Lord which proclaim the absolute spirituality of worship for those\nwho have attained to His teaching most plainly imply that such worship\nmust have been beyond the reach of average people, at all events, in\nearlier ages. Jerusalem, then, was needed to serve as the cradle of\nthe religion revealed through her prophets. When her wings had grown\nreligion could dispense with the nest; but in her unfledged condition\nthe destruction of the local shelter threatened the death of the\nbroodling.\n\n  [107] Neh. ii. 3.\n\nThere is a hopeful side to these reflections. A city with such a\ncharacter may be said to bear the seeds of her own revival. Her\nindividuality has that within it which fights against extinction. To\nput it another way, the idea of the city is too marked and too\nattractive for its privileged custodians to let it fade out of their\nminds, or to rest satisfied without attempting once more to have it\nrealised in visible form. Carthage might perish; for Carthage had few\ngraces wherewith to stir the enthusiasm of her citizens. Rome, on the\nother hand, had developed a character and a corresponding destiny of\nher own; and therefore she could not be blotted out by savage Huns or\nVandal hosts. The genius for government, unapproached by any other\ncity, could not be suppressed by the worst ravages of the invader.\nEven when political supremacy had passed away in consequence of the\nvices and weakness of the degenerate citizens, the power that had\nruled the world simply took another shape and ruled the Church, the\nsupremacy of Rome in the papacy succeeding to the supremacy of Rome in\nthe empire. So was it with Jerusalem. There was immortality in this\nwonderful city.\n\nWe may look at the subject from two points of view. First, faith in\nGod encourages the hope that such a destiny as is here foreshadowed\nshould not be allowed to fail. So felt the prophets who were permitted\nto read the counsels of God by inspired insight into the eternal\nprinciples of His nature. These men were sure that Jerusalem must rise\nagain from her ashes because they knew for a certainty that her Lord\nwould not let His purposes concerning her be frustrated.\n\nThen even with the limited vision which is all that can be attained\nfrom the lower platform of historical criticism, we may see that\nJerusalem had acquired such an immortal place in the estimation of the\nJews, that the people must have clung to the idea of a restoration\ntill it was realised. To say this is to shew that the realisation\ncould not but be accomplished. Such passionate regrets as those of the\nLamentations are seeds of hope.\n\nMay we go one step further? Is not every true and deep regret a\nprophecy of restoration? There is an irrecoverable past, it must be\nowned. That is to say, the days that are gone cannot return, nor can\ndeeds once done ever be undone; the future will never be an exact\nrepetition of the past. But all this does not forbid the assurance\nthat there may be genuine restoration. Jerusalem restored was very\nunlike the city whose fate the elegist bewailed; nevertheless she was\nrestored, and that with her essential characteristics more pronounced\nthan ever. Henceforth she was to be most completely what her earlier\nhistory had only faintly adumbrated--the typical seat of religion.\nThus, though the Lamentations are not at all cheering or prophetic in\ntone, or even in intention, but the very reverse, wholly mournful and\ndespondent, we may still detect, in the very intensity and\npersistence of the sorrow they portray, gleams of hope for better\ndays. There is no hope in stolid indifference; it is in the penitent's\ntears that we discover the prospect of his amendment. Repentance weeps\nfor the past, but at the same time it looks forward with a changed\nmind that is the promise of better things to come. Why should not we\napply these ideas that spring from a consideration of the five Hebrew\nelegies to other elegies--to the dirges that mourn the loved and dead?\nIf we could willingly let the departed drop out of thought we might\nhave little ground for believing we should ever see them again. But\nsorrow for the dead immortalises them in memory. In a materialistic\nview of the universe that might mean nothing but the perpetuity of a\nsentiment. But then it may by itself help us to perceive the\nsuperficiality, the utter falseness of such a view. Thus Tennyson sees\nthe answer to the crushing doubts of materialism and the assurance of\nimmortality for the departed in the strength of the love with which\nthey are cherished:\n\n  \"What is it all if we all of us end but in being our own corpse\n        coffins at last,\n  Swallowed in Vastness, lost in Silence, drowned in the deeps of\n        a meaningless Past!\n  What but a murmur of gnats in the gloom, or a moment's anger of bees\n        in their hive?\n\n     .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .\n\n  Peace, let it be! for I loved him, and love him for ever. The dead are\n        not dead, but alive.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n_DESOLATION_\n\ni. 1-7.\n\n\nThe first elegy is devoted to moving pictures of the desolation of\nJerusalem and the sufferings of her people. It dwells upon these\ndisasters themselves, with fewer references to the causes of them or\nthe hope of any remedy than are to be found in the subsequent poems,\nsimply to express the misery of the whole story. Thus it is in the\ntruest sense of the word a \"Lamentation.\" It naturally divides itself\ninto two parts--one with the poet speaking in his own person,[108] the\nother representing the deserted city herself appealing to passing\nstrangers and neighbouring nations, and lastly to God, to take note of\nher woes.[109]\n\n  [108] i. 1-11.\n\n  [109] i. 12-22.\n\nThe poem opens with a very beautiful passage in which we have a\ncomparison of Jerusalem to a widow bereft of her children, sitting\nsolitary in the night, weeping sorely. It would not be just to read\ninto the image of widowhood ideas collected from utterances of the\nprophets about the wedded union of Israel and her Lord; we have no\nhint of anything of the sort here. Apparently the image is selected in\norder to express the more vividly the utter lonesomeness of the city.\nIt is clear that the attribute \"solitary\" has no bearing on the\nexternal relations of Jerusalem--her isolation among the Syrian hills,\nor the desertion of her allies, mentioned a little later;[110] it\npoints to a more ghostly solitude, streets without traffic, tenantless\nhouses. The widow is solitary because she has been robbed of her\nchildren. And in this, her desolation, _she sits_. The attitude, so\nsimple and natural and easy under ordinary circumstances, here\nsuggests a settled continuance of wretchedness; it is helpless and\nhopeless. The first wild agony of the severance of the closest natural\nties has passed, and with it the stimulus of conflict; now there has\nsupervened the dull monotony of despair. This is the lowest depth of\nmisery, because it allows leisure when leisure is least welcome,\nbecause it gives the reins to the imagination to roam over regions of\nheart-rending memory or sombre apprehension, above all because there\nis nothing to be done, so that the whole range of consciousness is\nabandoned to pain. Many a sufferer has been saved by the healing\nministry of active duties, sometimes resented as an intrusion. It is a\nfearful thing simply to sit in sorrow.\n\n  [110] i. 2.\n\nThe mourner sits _in the night_, while the world around lies in the\npeace of sleep. The darkness has fallen, yet she does not stir, for\nday and night are alike to her--both dark. She is statuesque in\nsorrow, petrified by pain, and yet unhappily not dead; benumbed, but\nalive in every sensitive fibre of her being and terribly awake. In\nthis dread night of misery her one occupation is weeping. The mourner\nknows how the hidden fountains of tears which have been sealed to the\nworld for the day will break out in the silent solitude of night;\nthen the bravest will \"wet his couch with his tears.\" The forlorn\nwoman \"weepeth sore\"; to use the expressive Hebraism, \"weeping she\nweepeth.\" \"Her tears are on her cheeks\"; they are continually flowing;\nshe has no thought of drying them; there is no one else to wipe them\naway. This is not the frantic torrent of youthful tears, soon to be\nforgotten in sudden sunshine, like a spring shower; it is the dreary\nwinter rain, falling more silently, but from leaden clouds that never\nbreak. The Hebrew poet's picture is illustrated with singular aptness\nby a Roman coin, struck off in commemoration of the destruction of\nJerusalem by the army of Titus, which represents a woman seated under\na palm tree with the legend _Judaea capta_. Is it too much to imagine\nthat some Greek artist attached to the court of Vespasian may have\nborrowed the idea for the coin from the Septuagint version of this\nvery passage?\n\nThe woe of Jerusalem is intensified by reason of its contrast with the\nprevious splendour of the proud city. She had not always appeared as a\nlonely widow. Formerly she had held a high place among the\nneighbouring nations--for did she not cherish memories of the great\ndays of her shepherd king and Solomon the magnificent? Then she ruled\nprovinces; now she is herself tributary. She had lovers in the old\ntimes--a fact which points to faults of character not further pursued\nat present. How opposite is the utterly deserted state into which she\nis now sunk! This thought of a tremendous fall gives the greatest\nforce to the portrait. It is Rembrandtesque; the black shadows on the\nforeground are the deeper because they stand sharply out against the\nbrilliant radiance that streams in from the sunset of the past. The\npitiableness of the comfortless present lies in this, that there had\nbeen lovers whose consolations would now have been a solace; the\nbitterness of the enmity now experienced is its having been distilled\nfrom the dregs of poisoned friendship. Against the protests of her\nfaithful prophets Jerusalem had courted alliance with her heathen\nneighbours, only to be cruelly deserted in her hour of need. It is the\nold story of friendship with the world, keenly accentuated in the life\nof Israel, because this favoured people had already seen glimpses of a\nrich, rare privilege, the friendship of Heaven. This is the irony of\nthe situation; it is the tragic irony of all Hebrew history. Why were\nthese people so blindly infatuated that they would be perpetually\nforsaking the living waters, and hewing out to themselves broken\ncisterns that could hold no water? The question is only surpassed by\nthat of the similar folly on the part of those of us who follow their\nexample in spite of the warning their fate affords, failing to see\nthat true friendship is too exacting for ties spun from mere\nconvenience or superficial pleasantness to bear the strain of its more\nserious claims.\n\nPassing on from the poetic image to a more direct view of the drear\nfacts of the case, the author describes the hardships of the\nfugitives--people who had fled to Egypt, the retreat of Jeremiah and\nhis companions. This must be the bearing of the passage which our\ntranslators render--\n\n  \"Judah is gone into captivity because of affliction, and because of\n        great servitude.\"\n\nFor if the topic were the captivity at Babylon it would be difficult\nto see how \"affliction\" and \"great servitude\" could be treated as the\n_causes_ of that disaster; were they not rather its effects? Two\nsolutions of this difficulty have been proposed. It has been suggested\nthat the captivity is here presented as a consequence of the\nmisconduct of the Jews in oppressing peoples subject to them. But the\nabstract words will not readily bear any such meaning; we should have\nexpected some more explicit charge. Then it has been proposed to read\nthe words \"out of affliction,\" etc., in place of the phrase \"because\nof affliction,\" etc., as though in escaping from trouble at home the\nJews had only passed into a new misfortune abroad. This is not so\nsimple an explanation of the poet's language as that at which we\narrive by the perfectly legitimate substitution of the word \"exile\"\nfor \"captivity.\" It may seem strange that the statement should be\naffirmed of \"Judah,\" as though the whole nation had escaped to Egypt;\nbut it would be equally inexact to say that \"Judah\" was carried\ncaptive to Babylon, seeing that only a selection from the upper\nclasses was deported, while the majority of the people was probably\nleft in the land. But so many of the Jews, especially those best known\nto the poet, were in voluntary exile, that it was quite natural for\nhim to regard them as virtually the nation. Now upon these refugees\nthree troubles fall. First, the asylum is a heathen country,\nabominable to pious Israelites. Second, even here the fugitives have\nno rest; they are not allowed to settle down; they are perpetually\nmolested. Third, on the way thither they are harassed by the enemy.\nThey are overtaken by pursuers \"within the straits,\" a statement which\nmay be read literally; bands of Chaldaeans would hover about the\nmountains, ready to pounce upon the disorganised groups of fugitives\nas they made their way through the narrow defiles that led out of the\nhill country to the southern plains. But the phrase is a familiar\nHebraism for difficulties generally. No doubt it was true of the Jews\nin this larger sense that their opponents took advantage of their\nstraitened circumstances to vex them in every possible way. This is\njust in accordance with the common experience of mankind all the world\nover. But while the fact of the experience is obvious, the inference\nto which it points like an arrow is obstinately eluded. Thus a\ncommercial man in financial straits loses his credit at the very\nmoment when he most needs it. We cannot say that this is a proof of\nspite, or even a sign of cynical indifference; because the needy\nperson is really most untrustworthy, though his moral integrity may be\nunshaken, seeing that his circumstances make it probable that he will\nbe unable to fulfil his obligations. But now it is the deeper\nsignificance of this fact that is so persistently ignored. There is\nperceptible at times in nature a law of compensation by the operation\nof which misfortune is mitigated; but that merciful law is frequently\nthwarted by the overbearing influence of the terrible law of the\n\"survival of the fittest,\" the gospel of the fortunate, but the\ndeath-knell for all failures. If this is so in nature, much more does\nit obtain in human society so long as selfish greed is unchecked by\nhigher principles. Then the world, the Godless world, can be no asylum\nfor the miserable and unfortunate, because it will be hard upon them\nin exact proportion to the extremity of their necessities. Moreover,\nthe perception that this bitter truth is not a fruit of temporary\npassions which may be restrained by education, but the outcome of\ncertain persistent principles which cannot be set aside while society\nretains its present constitution, gives to it the adamantine strength\nof destiny.\n\nComing nearer to the city in his mental vision, the poet next bewails\ndeserted roads; \"those ways of Zion\" up which the holiday folks used\nto troop, clad in gay garments, with songs of rejoicing, are left so\nlonely that it seems as though they themselves must be mourning. It is\nin keeping with the imagery of these poems which personify the city,\nto endow the very roads with fancied consciousness. This is a natural\nresult of intense emotion, and therefore a witness to its very\nintensity. It seems as though the very earth must share in the\nfeelings of the man whose heart is stirred to its depths; as though\nall things must be filled with the passion the waves of which flow out\nto the horizon of his consciousness, till the very stones cry out.\n\nAs he approaches the city, the poet is struck with a strange, sad\nsight. There are no people about the gates; yet here, if anywhere, we\nshould expect to meet not only travellers passing through, but also\ngroups of men, merchants at their traffic, arbitrators settling\ndisputes, friends exchanging confidences, idlers lounging about and\nchewing the cud of the latest gossip, beggars winning for alms; for by\nthe gates are markets, _al fresco_ tribunals, open spaces for public\nmeetings. Formerly the life of the city was here concentrated; now no\ntrace of life is to be seen even at these social ganglia. The\ndesertion and silence of the gateways gives a shock of distress to the\nvisitor on entering the ruined city. More disappointments await him\nwithin the walls. Still keeping in mind the idea of the national\nfestivals, and accompanying the course of them in imagination, the\npoet goes up to the temple. No services are proceeding; any priests\nwho may be found still haunting the precincts of the charred ruins can\nonly sigh over their enforced idleness; the girl-choristers whose\nvoices would ring through the porticoes in the old times, are silent\nand desolate, for their mother, Jerusalem, is herself \"in bitterness.\"\n\nIn this part of the elegy our attention is directed to the cessation\nof the happy national assemblies with their accompaniment of public\nworship in songs of praise for harvest and vintage and in the awful\nsymbolism of the altar. The name \"Zion\" was associated with two\nthings, festivity and worship. It was a happy privilege for Israel to\nhave had the inspired insight as well as the courage of faith to\nrealise the conjunction. Even with the fuller light and larger liberty\nof Christianity it is rarely acknowledged among us. Our services have\ntoo much of the funeral dirge about them. The devout Israelite\nreserved his dirge for the death of his worship. It does not seem to\nhave occurred to the poet that anybody could come to regard worship as\nan irksome duty from which he would gladly be liberated. Are we, then,\nto suppose that the Israelites who practised the crude cult that was\nprevalent before the Exile, even among the true servants of Jehovah,\nwere indeed more devout than Christians who enjoy the privileges of\ntheir richer revelation? Scarcely so; for it must be remembered that\nwe are called to a more spiritual and therefore a more difficult\nworship. Inward sincerity is here of supreme importance; if this is\nmissing there is no worship, and without it the miserable unreality\nbecomes inexpressibly wearisome. No doubt it is the failure to reach\nthe rare altitude of its lofty ideal that makes Christian worship to\nappear in the eyes of many to be a melancholy performance. But this\nexplanation should not be permitted to obscure the fact that true,\nliving, spiritual worship must be a very delightful exercise of the\nsoul. Perhaps one reason why this truth is not sufficiently\nappreciated may be found in the very facility with which the outward\nmeans of worship are presented to us. People who are seldom out of the\nsound of church bells are inclined to grow deaf to their significance.\nThe Roman Christian hunted in the catacombs, the Waldensian hiding in\nhis mountain cave, the Covenanter meeting his fellow members of the\nkirk in a remote highland glen, the backwoodsman walking fifty miles\nto attend Divine service once in six months, are led by difficulty and\ndeprivation to perceive the value of public worship in a degree which\nis surprising to people among whom it is merely an incident of\nevery-day life. When Zion was in ashes the memory of her festivals was\nencircled with a halo of regret.\n\nIn accordance with the principle of construction which he follows\nthroughout--the heightening of the effect of the picture by presenting\na succession of contrasts--the poet next sets the prosperity of the\nenemies of Jerusalem in close juxtaposition to the misery of those of\nher people in whom it is most pitiable and startling, the children and\nthe princes. Men with any heart in them would wish above all things\nthat the innocent young members of their families should be spared;\nyet the captives carried off to Babylon consisted principally of boys\nand girls torn from their homes, conveyed hundreds of miles across the\ndesert, many of them dragged down to hideous degradation by the vices\nthat luxuriated in the corrupt empire of the Euphrates. The other\nclass of victims specially commented on is that of the princes. Not\nonly is the present humiliation of the nobility in sharp contrast to\ntheir former elevation of rank, and therefore their sufferings the\nmore acute, but it is also to be observed that their old position of\nleadership has been completely reversed. The reference must be to\nZedekiah and his courtiers.[111] These proud princes who formerly\nexercised command over the multitude have become a shameful flock of\nfugitives. In the expressive image of the poet, they are compared to\n\"harts that find no pasture\"; they are like fleet wild deer, so cowed\nby hunger that they meekly permit themselves to be driven by their\nenemies just as if they were a herd of tame cattle.\n\n  [111] Jer. xxxix. 4, 5.\n\nIn the middle of this comparison between the success of the conquerors\nand the fate of their victims the poet inserts a pregnant sentence\nwhich suddenly carries us off to regions of far more profound\nreflection, touching upon the two sources of the ruin of Jerusalem\nthat lie behind the visible hand of Nebuchadnezzar and his hosts, her\nown sin and the consequent wrath of her God. It flashes out as a\nmomentary thought, and then retires with equal suddenness, permitting\nthe previous current of reflections to be resumed as though unaffected\nby the startling interruption. This thought will reappear, however,\nwith increasing fulness, shewing that it is always present to the mind\nof the poet and ready to come to the surface at any moment, even when\nit would seem to be inappropriate, although it can never be really\ninappropriate, because it is the key to the mystery of the whole\ntragedy.\n\nLastly, while the sense of a strong contrast is excited objectively by\na comparison of the placid security of the invaders with the\ndegradation of the fugitives, subjectively it is most vividly realised\nby the sufferers themselves when they call to mind their former\nhappiness. Jerusalem is supposed to fall into a reverie in which she\nfollows the recollection of the whole series of her pleasant\nexperiences from far-off bygone times through an the succeeding ages\nflown to the present era of calamities. This is to indulge in the\npains of memory--pains which are decidedly more acute than the\ncorresponding pleasures celebrated by Samuel Rogers. These pains are\ndoubly intense owing to the inevitable fact that the contrast is\nunnaturally strained. Viewed in the softened lights of memory, the\npast is strangely simplified, its mixed character is forgotten, and\nmany of its unpleasant features are smoothed out, so that an idyllic\ncharm hovers over the dream, and lends it an unearthly beauty. This is\nwhy so many people foolishly damp the hopes of children, who, if they\nare healthily constituted, ought to be anticipating the future with\neagerness, by solemnly exhorting them to make hay while the sun\nshines, with the gloomy warning that the sunny season must soon pass.\nTheir application of the motto _carpe diem_ is not only pagan in\nspirit; it is founded on an illusion. Happily there is some unreality\nabout most of our yearning regrets for the days that have gone. That\nsweet, fair past was not so radiant as its effigy in the dreamland of\nmemory now appears to be; nor is the hard present so free from\nmitigating circumstances as we suppose. And yet, when all is said, we\ncannot find the consolation we hunger after in hours of darkness among\nbare conclusions of common-sense. The grave is not an illusion, at\nleast when only viewed in the light of the past though even this\nchill, earthy reality begins to melt into a shadow immediately the\nlight of the eternal future falls upon it. The melancholy that laments\nthe lost past can only be perfectly mastered by that Christian grace,\nthe hope which presses forward to a better future.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n_SIN AND SUFFERING_\n\ni. 8-11\n\n\nThe doctrinaire rigour of Judaism in its uncompromising association of\nmoral and physical evils has led to an unreasonable disregard for the\nsolid truth which lies behind this mistake. It can scarcely be said\nthat men are now perplexed by the problem that inspired the Book of\nJob. The fall of the tower of Siloam or the blindness of a man from\nhis birth would not start among us the vexatious questions which were\nraised in the days of our Lord. We have not accepted the Jewish theory\nthat the punishment of sin always overtakes the sinner in this life,\nmuch less have we assented to the by no means necessary corollary that\nall calamities are the direct penalties of the misconduct of the\nsufferers, and therefore sure signs of guilt. The modern tendency is\nin the opposite direction; it goes to ignore the existence of any\nconnection whatever between the course of the universe and human\nconduct. No interference with the uniformity of the laws of nature for\nretributive or disciplinary purposes can be admitted. The machinery\nruns on in its grooves never deflected by any regard for our good or\nbad deserts. If we dash ourselves against its wheels they will tear us\nto pieces, grind us to powder; and we may reasonably consider this\ntreatment to be the natural punishment of our folly. But here we are\nnot beyond physical causation, and the drift of thought is towards\nholding the belief in anything more to be a simple survival from\nprimitive anthropomorphic ideas of nature, a pure superstition. Is it\na pure superstition? It is time we turned to another side of the\nquestion.\n\nEvery strong conviction that has obtained wide recognition, however\nerroneous and mischievous it may be, can be traced back to the abuse\nof some solid truth. It is not the case that the universe is\nconstructed without any regard for moral laws. Even the natural\npunishment of the violation of natural laws contains a certain ethical\nelement. Other considerations apart, clearly it is wrong to injure\none's health or endanger one's life by rushing headlong against the\nconstituted order of the universe; therefore the consequences of such\nconduct may be taken as signs of its condemnation. In the case of the\nsufferings of the Jews lamented by our poet the calamities were not\nprimarily of a physical origin; they grew out of human acts--the\naccompaniments of the Chaldaean invasion. When we come to the evolution\nof history we are introduced to a whole world of moral forces that are\nnot at work in the material universe. Nebuchadnezzar did not know that\nhe was the instrument of a Higher Power for the chastisement of\nIsrael; but the corruptions of the Jews, so ruthlessly exposed by\ntheir prophets, had undermined the national vigour which is the chief\nsafeguard of a state, as surely as at a later time the corruptions of\nRome opened her gates to devastating hosts of Goths and Huns. May we\nnot go further, and, passing beyond the region of common observation,\ndiscover richer indications of the ethical meanings of events in the\napplication to them of a real faith in God? It was his profound\ntheism that lay at the base of the Jew's conception of temporal\nretribution, crude, hard, and narrow as this was. If we believe that\nGod is supreme over nature and history as well as over individual\nlives, we must conclude that He will use every province of His vast\ndominion so as to further His righteous purposes. If the same Spirit\nreigns throughout there must be a certain harmony between all parts of\nHis government. The mistake of the Jew was his claim to interpret the\ndetails of this Divine administration with a sole regard for the\nminute fraction of the universe that came under his own eyes, with\nblank indifference to the vast realm of facts and principles of which\nhe could know nothing. His idea of Providence was too shortsighted,\ntoo parochial, in every respect too small; yet it was true in so far\nas it registered the conviction that there must be an ethical\ncharacter in the government of the world by a righteous God, that the\ndivinely ordered course of events cannot be out of all relation to\nconduct.\n\nIt does not fall in with the plan of the Lamentations for this subject\nto be treated so fully in these poems as it is in the stirring\nexhortations of the great prophets. Yet it comes to the surface\nrepeatedly. In the fifth verse of the first elegy the poet attributes\nthe affliction of Zion to \"the multitude of her transgressions\"; and\nhe introduces the eighth verse with the clear declaration--\n\n  \"Jerusalem hath grievously sinned; therefore she has become an\n        unclean thing.\"\n\nThe powerful Hebrew idiom according to which the cognate substance\nfollows the verb is here employed. Rendered literally, the opening\nphrase is, \"sinned sin.\" The experience of the chastisement leads to a\nkeen perception of the guilt that precedes it. This is more than a\nconsequence of the application of the accepted doctrine of the\nconnection of sin with suffering to a particular case. No intellectual\ntheory is strong enough by itself to awaken a slumbering conscience.\nThe logic may be faultless; and yet even though the point of the\nsyllogism is not evaded it will be coolly ignored. Trouble arouses a\ntorpid conscience in a much more direct and effectual way. In the\nfirst place, it shatters the pride which is the chief hindrance to the\nconfession of sin. Then it compels reflection; it calls a halt, and\nmakes us look back over the path we may have been following too\nheedlessly. Sometimes it seems to exercise a distinctly illuminating\ninfluence. It is as though scales had fallen from the sufferer's eyes;\nhe sees all things in a new light, and some ugly facts which had been\nlying at his side for years disregarded suddenly glare upon him as\nhorrible discoveries. Thus the \"Prodigal Son\" perceives that he has\nsinned both against Heaven and against his father when he is in the\nlowest depths of misery, not so much because he recognises a penal\ncharacter in his troubles, but more on account of the fact that he has\n_come to himself_. This subjective, psychological connection between\nsuffering and sin is independent of any dogma of retribution; for the\nends of practical discipline it is the most important connection. We\nmay waive all discussion of the ancient Jewish problem, and still be\nthankful to recognise the Elijah-like ministry of adversity.\n\nThe immediate effect of this vision of sin is that a new colour is\ngiven to the picture of the desolation of Jerusalem. The image of a\nmiserable woman is preserved, but the dignity of the earlier scene is\nmissing here. Pathos and poetry gather round the picture of the\nforlorn widow weeping for the loss of her children. Neglected and\nhumbled as she is in worldly estate, the tragic vastness of her sorrow\nhas exalted her to an altitude of moral sublimity. Such suffering\nbreaks through those barriers of conventional experience which make\nmany lives look mean and trivial. It is so awful that we cannot but\nregard it with reverence. But all this is altered in the aspect of\nJerusalem which follows the confession of her great sin. In the\nfreedom of ancient language the poet ventures on an illustration that\nwould be regarded as too gross for modern literature. The limits of\nour art exclude subjects which excite a sensation of disgust; but this\nis just the sensation the author of the elegy deliberately aims at\nproducing. He paints a picture which is simply intended to sicken his\nreaders. The utter humiliation of Jerusalem is exhibited in the\nunavoidable exposure of a condition which natural modesty would\nconceal at any cost. Another contrast between the reserve of our\nmodern style and the rude bluntness of antiquity is here apparent. It\nis not only that we have grown more refined in language--a very\nsuperficial change which might be no better than the whitewashing of\nsepulchres; over and above this civilising of mere manners, the effect\nof Teutonic habits, strengthened by Christian sentiments, has been to\ndevelop a respect for woman undreamed of in the old Eastern world. It\nmay be added that the scientific temper of recent times has taught us\nthat there is nothing really dishonouring in purely natural processes.\nThe ancient world could not distinguish between delicacy and shame. We\nshould regard a poor suffering woman whose modesty had been grievously\nwounded with simple commiseration; the ancient Jews treated such a\nperson with disgust as an unclean creature, quite unable to see that\ntheir conduct was simply brutal.\n\nThe new aspect of the misery of Jerusalem is thus set forth as one of\ndegradation and ignominy. The vision of sin is immediately followed by\na scene of shame. Commentators have been divided over the question\nwhether this picture of the humiliated woman is intended to apply to\nthe sin of the city or only to her misfortunes. In favour of the\nformer view, it may be remarked that uncleanness is distinctly\nassociated with moral corruption: the connection is the more\nappropriate here inasmuch as a confession of sin immediately precedes.\nOn the other hand, the attendant circumstances point to the second\ninterpretation. It is the humiliation of the condition of the\nsufferer, rather than that condition itself, which is dwelt upon.\nJerusalem is despised, \"she sigheth,\" \"is come down wonderfully,\"\n\"hath no comforter,\" and is generally afflicted and oppressed by her\nenemies. But while we are led to regard the pitiable picture as a\nrepresentation of the woful plight into which the proud city has\nfallen, we cannot conclude it to be an accident that this particular\nphase of her misery succeeds the mention of her great guilt. After\nall, it is only the underlying guilt that can justify a verdict which\ncarries disgrace as well as suffering for its penalty. Even when the\njudgments of men are too confused to recognise this truth with regard\nto other people, it should be apparent to the conscience of the\nhumiliated person himself. The humiliation which follows nothing worse\nthan a fall into external misfortunes is but a superficial trouble,\nand the consciousness of innocence can enable one to submit to it\nwithout any sense of inward shame. The sting of contempt lies in the\nmiserable consciousness that it is deserved.\n\nThus we see the punishment of sin consisting in exposure. The exposure\nwhich simply hurts natural modesty is acutely painful to a refined,\nsensitive spirit; and yet the very dignity which it outrages is a\nshield against the point of the insult. But where the exposure follows\nsin this shield is absent. In that case the degradation of it is\nwithout any mitigation. Nothing more may be necessary to constitute a\nvery severe punishment. When the secrets of all hearts are revealed\nthe very revelation will be a penal process. To lay bare the quivering\nnerves of memory to the searching sunlight must be to torture the\nguilty soul with inconceivable horrors. Nevertheless it is a matter\nfor profound thankfulness that there is no question of a surprising\nrevelation of the sinner's guilt being made to God at some future\ntime, some shocking discovery which might turn His lovingkindness into\nwrath or contempt. We cannot have a firmer ground of joy and hope than\nthe fact that God knows everything about us, and yet loves us at our\nworst, patiently waiting for repentance with His offer of unlimited\nforgiveness. Exposure before God is like a surgical examination; the\nhope of a cure, if it does not dispel the sense of humiliation--and\nthat is impossible in the case of guilt, the disgrace of which to a\nhealthy conscience is more intense before the holiness of God than\nbefore the eyes of fellow-sinners--still encourages confidence.\n\nThe recognition of a moral lapse at the root of the shame of\nJerusalem, though not perhaps in the shame itself, is confirmed by a\nphrase which reflects on the culpable heedlessness of the Jews. The\nelegy deplores how the city has \"come down wonderfully\" on account of\nthe fact that \"she remembered not her latter end.\" It is quite\nconfusing and incorrect to render this expression in the present\ntense as it stands in the Authorised English Version. The poet cannot\nmean that the Jews in exile and captivity have already forgotten the\nrecent horrors of the siege of Jerusalem. This would be flatly\ncontrary to the motive of the elegy, which is to give tongue to the\nsufferings of the Jews flowing out of that disaster. It would be\nimpossible to say that the calamity that inspired the elegy was no\nlonger even remembered by its victims. What an anti-climax this would\nbe! Clearly the poet is bewailing the culpable folly of the people in\nnot giving a thought to the certain consequences of such a course as\nthey were following; a course that had been denounced by the faithful\nprophets of Jehovah, who, alas! had been but voices crying in the\nwilderness, unnoted, or even scouted and suppressed, like the stormy\npetrels hated by sailors as birds of ill-omen. In her ease and\nprosperity, her self-indulgence and sin, the doomed city had failed to\nrecollect what must be the end of such things. The idea of remembrance\nis peculiarly apt and forcible in this connection, although it has a\nrelation to the future, because the Jews had been through experiences\nwhich should have served as warnings if they had duly reflected on\nthem. This was not a matter for wild guesses or vague apprehensions.\nNot only were there the distinct utterances of Jeremiah and his\npredecessors to rouse the thoughtless; events had been speaking louder\nthan words. Jerusalem was already a city with a history, and that\nhistory had even by this time accumulated some tragic lessons. These\nwere subjects for memory. Thus memory can become prophecy, because the\nlaws which are revealed in the past will govern the future. We are\nnone of us so wholly inexperienced but that in the knowledge of what\nwe have already been through we may gain wisdom to anticipate the\nconsequences of our present actions. The heedless person is one who\nforgets, or at all events one who will not attend to his own memories.\nSuch recklessness is its own condemnation; it cannot plead the excuse\nof ignorance.\n\nBut now it may be objected that this reference to the mere thought of\nconsequences suggests considerations that are too low to furnish the\nreasons for the ruin of Jerusalem. Would the city have been spared if\nonly her inhabitants had been a little more foreseeing? It should be\nobserved that though mere prudence is never a very lofty virtue,\nimprudence is sometimes a very serious fault. It cannot be right to be\nsimply reckless, to ignore all lessons of the past and fling oneself\nblindly into the future. The hero who is sure that he is inspired by a\nlofty motive may walk straight into the very jaws of death, and be all\nthe stronger for his noble indifference to his fate; but he who is no\nhero, he who is not influenced by any great or unselfish ideas, has no\nexcuse for neglecting the warnings of common prudence. All wise\nactions must be more or less guided with a view to their issues in the\nfuture, although in the case of the best of them the aims will be pure\nand unselfish. It is our prerogative to \"look before and after\"; and\njust in proportion as we take long views do our deeds acquire gravity\nand depth. Our Lord characterised the two ways by their ends. While\nthe example of the careless Jews is followed on all sides--and who of\nus can deny that he has ever fallen into the negligence?--is it not a\nlittle superfluous to discuss abstract, unpractical problems about a\nremote altruism?\n\nIntermingled with his painful picture of the humiliation and shame of\nthe fallen city, the poet supplies indications of the effect of all\nthis on the suffering citizens. Despised by all who had formerly\nhonoured her, Jerusalem sighs and longs to retire into obscurity, away\nfrom the rude gaze of her oppressors.\n\nIn particular, two further signs of her distress are here given.\n\nThe first is _spoliation_. Her enemies have laid hands on \"all her\npleasant things.\" It may strike us that, after the miseries just\nnarrated, this is but a minor trouble. Job's calamities began with the\nloss of his property, and rose from this by degrees to the climax of\nagony. If his first trouble had been the sudden death of all his\nchildren, stunned by that awful blow, he would have cared little about\nthe fate of his flocks and herds. It is not according to the method of\nthe Lamentations, however, to move on to any climax. The thoughts are\nset forth as they well up in the mind of the poet, now passionate and\nintense, then again of a milder cast, yet altogether combining to\ncolour one picture of intolerable woe. But there is an aspect of this\nidea of the robbery of the \"pleasant things\" which heightens the sense\nof misery. It is another instance of the force of contrast so often\nmanifested in these elegies. Jerusalem had been a home of wealth and\nluxury in the merry old days. But hoarded money, precious jewellery,\nfamily heirlooms, products of art and skill, accumulated during\ngenerations of prosperity and treated as necessaries of life--all had\nbeen swept away in the sack of the city, and scattered among strangers\nwho could not prize them as they had been prized by their owners; and\nnow these victims of spoliation, stripped of everything, were in want\nof daily bread. Even what little could be saved from the wreck they\nhad to give up in exchange for common food, bought dearly in the\nmarket of necessity.\n\nThe second sign of the great distress here noted is _desecration_.\nGentiles invade the sacred precincts of the temple. Considering that\nthe sanctuary had been already much more effectually desecrated by the\nblood-stained hands and lustful hearts of impious worshippers, such as\nthose \"rulers of Sodom\" denounced by Isaiah for \"trampling\" the courts\nof Jehovah with their \"vain oblations,\"[112] we do not find it easy to\nsympathise with this horror of a supposed defilement from the mere\npresence of heathen persons. Yet it would be unjust to accuse the\nshocked Israelites of hypocrisy. They ought to have been more\nconscious of the one real corruption of sin; but we cannot add that\ntherefore their notions of external uncleanness were altogether\nfoolish and wrong. To judge the Jews of the age of the Captivity by a\nstandard of spirituality which few Christians have yet attained to\nwould be a cruel anachronism. The Syrian invasion of the temple in the\ntime of the Maccabees was called by a very late prophet an\n\"abomination of desolation,\"[113] and a similar insult to be offered\nto the sacred place by the Romans is described by our Lord in the same\nterms.[114] All of us must be conscious at times of the sacredness of\nassociations. To botanise on his mother's grave may be a proof of a\nman's freedom from superstition, but it cannot be taken as an\nindication of the fineness of his feelings. The Israelite\nexclusiveness which shunned the intrusion of foreigners simply because\nthey were foreigners was combined both with a patriotic anxiety to\npreserve the integrity of the nation, and in some cases with a\nreligious dread of idolatry. It is true the nominal contamination of\nthe mere presence of Gentiles was generally more dreaded than the real\ncontagion of their corrupt examples. Still the very idea of\ndesecration, even when it is superficial, together with a sense of\npain at its presence, is higher than the materialism which despises it\nnot because this materialism has the grace to sanctify everything, but\nfor the opposite reason, because it counts nothing holy, because to it\nall things are common and unclean.\n\n  [112] Isa. i. 10-17.\n\n  [113] Dan. xi. 31.\n\n  [114] Mark xiii. 14.\n\nBefore we pass from this portion of the elegy there is one curious\ncharacteristic of it which calls for notice. The poet suddenly drops\nthe construction in the third person and writes in the first person.\nThis he does twice--at the end of the ninth verse, and again at the\nend of the eleventh. He might be speaking in his own person, but the\nlanguage points to the personified city. Yet in each case the outburst\nis quite abrupt, sprung upon us without any introductory formula.\nPossibly the explanation of this anomaly must be sought in the\nliturgical use for which the poem was designed. If it was to be sung\nantiphonally we may conjecture that at these places a second chorus\nwould break in. The result would be a startling dramatic effect--as\nthough the city had sat listening to the lament over her woes until\nthe piteous tale had compelled her to break her silence and cry aloud.\nIn each case the cry is directed to heaven. It is an appeal to God;\nand it simply prays for His attention--\"Behold, O Lord,\" \"See, O Lord,\nand behold.\" In the first case the Divine attention is called to the\ninsolence of the enemy, in the second to the degradation of Jerusalem.\nStill it is only an appeal for notice. Will God but look upon all this\nmisery? That is sufficient.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n_ZION'S APPEAL_\n\ni. 12-22\n\n\nIn the latter part of the second elegy Jerusalem appears as the\nspeaker, appealing for sympathy, first to stray, passing travellers,\nthen to the larger circle of the surrounding nations, and lastly to\nher God. Already the suffering city has spoken once or twice in brief\ninterruptions of the poet's descriptions of her miseries, and now she\nseems to be too impatient to permit herself to be represented any\nlonger even by this friendly advocate; she must come forward in person\nand present her case in her own words.\n\nThere is much difference of opinion among commentators about the\nrendering of the phrase with which the appeal begins. The Revisers\nhave followed the Authorised Version in taking it as a question--\"Is\nit nothing to you, all ye that pass by?\"[115] But it may be treated as\na direct negative--\"It is nothing,\" etc., or, by a slightly different\nreading of the Hebrew text, as a simple call for attention--\"O all ye\nthat pass by,\" etc., as in the Vulgate \"_O vos_,\" etc. The usual\nrendering is the finest in literary feeling, and it is in accordance\nwith a common usage. Although the sign of an interrogation, which\nwould set this meaning beyond dispute, is absent, there does not seem\nto be sufficient reason for rejecting it in favour of one of the\nproposed alternatives. But in any case the whole passage evidently\nexpresses a deep yearning for sympathy. Mere strangers, roving\nBedouin, any people who may chance to be passing by Jerusalem, are\nimplored to behold her incomparable woes. The wounded animal creeps\ninto a corner to suffer and die in secret, perhaps on account of the\nhabit of herds, in tormenting a suffering mate. But among mankind the\ninstinct of a sufferer is to crave sympathy, from a friend, if\npossible; but if such be not available, then even from a stranger. Now\nalthough where it is possible to give effectual aid, merely to cast a\npitying look and pass by on the other side, like the priest and the\nLevite in the parable, is a mockery and a cruelty, although\nunpretentious indifference is better than that hypocrisy, it would be\na great mistake to suppose that in those cases for which no direct\nrelief can be given sympathy is of no value. This sympathy, if it is\nreal, would help if it could; and under all circumstances it is the\nreality of the sympathy that is most prized, not its issues.\n\n  [115] i. 12.\n\nIt should be remembered, further, that the first condition of active\naid is a genuine sense of compassion, which can only be awakened by\nmeans of knowledge and the impressions which a contemplation of\nsuffering produce. Evil is wrought not only from want of thought, but\nalso from lack of knowledge; and good-doing is withheld for the same\nreason. Therefore the first requisite is to arrest attention. A royal\ncommission is the reasonable precursor of a state remedy for some\npublic wrong. Misery is permitted to flourish in the dark because\npeople are too indolent to search it out. No doubt the knowledge of\nsufferings which we might remedy implies a grave responsibility; but\nwe cannot escape our obligations by simply closing our eyes to what we\ndo not wish to see. We are responsible for our ignorance and its\nconsequences wherever the opportunity of knowledge is within our\nreach.\n\nThe appeal to all who pass by is most familiar to us in its later\nassociation with our Lord's sufferings on the cross. But this is not\nin any sense a Messianic passage; it is confined in its purpose to the\nmiseries of Jerusalem. Of course there can be no objection to\nillustrating the grief and pain of the Man of Sorrows by using the\nclassic language of an ancient lament if we note that this is only an\nillustration. There is a kinship in all suffering, and it is right to\nconsider that He who was tried in all points as we are tried passed\nthrough sorrows which absorbed all the bitterness even of such a cup\nof woe as that which was drunk by Jerusalem in the extremity of her\nmisfortunes. If never before there had been sorrow like unto her\nsorrow, at length that was matched, nay, surpassed at Gethsemane and\nGolgotha. Still it would be a mistake to confine these words to their\nsecondary application--not only an exegetical mistake, but one of\ndeeper significance. Jesus Christ restrained the wailing of the women\nwho offered Him their compassion on His way to the cross, bidding them\nweep not for Him, but for themselves and their children.[116] Much\nmore when His passion is long past and He is reigning in glory must it\nbe displeasing to Him for His friends to be wasting idle tears over\nthe sufferings of His earthly life. The morbid sentimentality which\nbroods over the ancient wounds of Christ, the nail prints and the\nspear thrust, but ignores the present wounds of society--the wounds\nof the world for which He bled and died, or the wounds of the Church\nwhich is His body now, must be wrong in His sight. He would rather we\ngave a cup of cold water to one of His brethren than an ocean of tears\nto the memory of Calvary. If then we would make use of the ruined\ncity's appeal for sympathy by applying it to some later object it\nwould be more in agreement with the mind of Christ to think of the\nmiseries of mankind in our own day, and to consider how a sympathetic\nregard for them may point to some ministry of alleviation.\n\n  [116] Luke xxiii. 28.\n\nIn order to impress the magnitude of her miseries on the minds of the\nstrangers whose attention she would arrest, the city, now personified\nas a suppliant, describes her dreadful condition in a series of brief,\npointed metaphors. Thus the imagination is excited; and the\nimagination is one of the roads to the heart. It is not enough that\npeople know the bald facts of a calamity as these may be scheduled in\nan inspector's report. Although this preliminary information is most\nimportant, if we go no further the report will be replaced in its\npigeon-hole, and lie there till it is forgotten. If it is to do\nsomething better than gather the dust of years it must be used as a\nfoundation for the imagination to work upon. This does not imply any\ndeparture from truth, any false colouring or exaggeration; on the\ncontrary, the process only brings out the truth which is not really\nseen until it is imagined. Let us look at the various images under\nwhich the distress of Jerusalem is here presented.\n\nIt is like a fire in the bones.[117] It burns, consumes, pains with\nintolerable torment; it is no skin-deep trouble, it penetrates to the\nvery marrow. This fire is overmastering; it is not to be quenched,\nneither does it die out; it \"prevaileth\" against the bones. There is\nno getting such a fire under.\n\n  [117] i. 13.\n\nIt is like a net.[118] The image is changed. We see a wild creature\ncaught in the bush, or perhaps a fugitive arrested in his flight and\nflung down by hidden snares at his feet. Here is the shock of\nsurprise, the humiliation of deceit, the vexation of being thwarted.\nThe result is a baffled, bewildered, helpless condition.\n\n  [118] i. 13.\n\nIt is like faintness.[119] The desolate sufferer is ill. It is bad\nenough to have to bear calamities in the strength of health. Jerusalem\nis made sick and kept faint all the day--with a faintness that is not\na momentary collapse, but a continuous condition of failure.\n\n  [119] _Ibid._\n\nIt is like a yoke[120] which is wreathed upon the neck--fixed on, as\nwith twisted withes. The poet is here more definite. The yoke is made\nout of the transgressions of Jerusalem. The sense of guilt does not\nlighten its weight; the band that holds it most closely is the feeling\nthat it is deserved. It is natural that the sinful sufferer should\nexclaim that God, who has bound this terrible yoke upon her, has made\nher strength to fail. As there is nothing so invigorating as the\nassurance that one is suffering for a righteous cause, so there is\nnothing so wretchedly depressing as the consciousness of guilt.\n\n  [120] i. 14.\n\nLastly, it is like a winepress.[121] This image is elaborated with\nmore detail, although at the expense of unity of design. God is said\nto have called a \"solemn assembly\" to oppress the Jews, by an ironical\nreversal of the common notion of such an assembly. The language\nrecalls the idea of one of the great national festivals of Israel. But\nnow instead of the favoured people their enemies are summoned, and the\nobject is not the glad praise of God for his bounties in harvest or\nvintage, but the crushing of the Jews. They are to be victims, not\nguests as of old. They are themselves the harvest of judgment, the\nvintage of wrath. The wine is to be made, but the grapes crushed to\nproduce it are the people who were accustomed to feast and drink of\nthe fruits of God's bounty in the happy days of their prosperity. So\nthe mighty men are set at nought, their prowess counting as nothing\nagainst the brutal rush of the enemy; and the young men are crushed,\ntheir spirit and vigour failing them in the great destruction.\n\n  [121] i. 15.\n\nThe most terrible trait in these pictures, one that is common to all\nof them, is the Divine origin of the troubles. It was God who sent\nfire into the bones, spread the net, made the sufferer desolate and\nfaint. The yoke was bound by His hands. It was He who set at nought\nthe mighty men, and summoned the assembly of foes to crush His people.\nThe poet even goes so far as to make the daring statement that it was\nthe Lord Himself who trod the virgin daughter of Judah as in a\nwinepress. It is a ghastly picture--a dainty maiden trampled to death\nby Jehovah as grapes are trampled to squeeze out their juice! This\nhorrible thing is ascribed to God! Yet there is no complaint of\nbarbarity, no idea that the Judge of all the earth is not doing right.\nThe miserable city does not bring any railing accusation against her\nLord; she takes all the blame upon herself. We must be careful to bear\nin mind the distinction between poetic imagery and prosaic narrative.\nStill it remains true that Jerusalem here attributes her troubles to\nthe will and action of God. This is vital to the Hebrew faith. To\nexplain it away is to impoverish the religion of Israel, and with it\nthe Old Testament revelation. That revelation shews us the absolute\nsovereignty of God, and at the same time it brings out the guilt of\nman, so that no room is allowed for complaints against the Divine\njustice. The grief is all the greater because there is no thought of\nrebellion. The daring doubts that struggle into expression in Job\nnever obtrude themselves here to check the even flow of tears. The\nmelancholy is profound, but comparatively calm, since it does not once\ngive place to anger. It is natural that the succession of images of\nmisery conceived in this spirit should be followed by a burst of\ntears. Zion weeps because the comforter who should refresh her soul is\nfar away, and she is left utterly desolate.[122]\n\n  [122] i. 16.\n\nHere the supposed utterance of Jerusalem is broken for the poet to\ninsert a description of the suppliant making her piteous appeal.[123]\nHe shews us Zion spreading out her hands, that is to say, in the\nwell-known attitude of prayer. She is comfortless, oppressed by her\nneighbours in accordance with the will of her God, and treated as an\nunclean thing; she who had despised the idolatrous Gentiles in her\npride of superior sanctity has now become foul and despicable in their\neyes!\n\n  [123] i. 17.\n\nThe semi-dramatic form of the elegy is seen in the reappearance of\nJerusalem as speaker without any formula of introduction. After the\npoet's brief interjection describing the suppliant, the personified\ncity continues her plaintive appeal, but with a considerable\nenlargement of its scope. She makes the most distinct acknowledgment\nof the two vital elements of the case--God's righteousness and her own\nrebellion.[124] These carry us beneath the visible scenes of trouble\nso graphically illustrated earlier, and fix our attention on\ndeep-seated principles. It cannot be supposed that the faith and\npenitence unreservedly confessed in the elegy were truly experienced\nby all the fugitive citizens of Jerusalem, though they were found in\nthe devout \"remnant\" among whom the author of the poem must be\nreckoned. But the reasonable interpretation of these utterances is\nthat which accepts them as the inspired expressions of the thoughts\nand feelings which Jerusalem ought to possess, as ideal expressions,\nsuitable to those who rightly appreciate the whole situation. This\nfact gives them a wide applicability. The ideal approaches the\nuniversal. Although it cannot be said that all trouble is the direct\npunishment of sin, and although it is manifestly insincere to make\nconfession of guilt one does not inwardly admit, to be firmly settled\nin the conviction that God is right in what he does even when it all\nlooks most wrong, that if there is a fault it must be on man's side,\nis to have reached the centre of truth. This is very different from\nthe admission that God has the right of an absolute sovereign to do\nwhatever He chooses, like mad Caligula when intoxicated with his own\ndivinity; it even implies a denial of that supposed right, for it\nasserts that He acts in accordance with something other than His will,\nviz., righteousness.\n\n  [124] i. 18.\n\nEnlarging the area of her appeal, no longer content to snatch at the\ncasual pity of individual travellers on the road, Jerusalem now calls\nupon all the \"peoples\"--i.e., all neighbouring tribes--to hear the\ntale of her woes.[125] This is too huge a tragedy to be confined to\nprivate spectators; it is of national proportions, and it claims the\nattention of whole nations. It is curious to observe that foreigners,\nwhom the strict Jews sternly exclude from their privileges, are\nnevertheless besought to compassionate their distresses. These\nuncircumcised heathen are not now thrust contemptuously aside; they\nare even appealed to as sympathisers. Perhaps this is meant to\nindicate the vastness of the misery of Jerusalem by the suggestion\nthat even aliens should be affected by it; when the waves spread far\nin all directions there must have been a most terrible storm at the\ncentre of disturbance. Still it is possible to find in this widening\noutlook of the poet a sign of the softening and enlarging effects of\ntrouble. The very need of much sympathy breaks down the barriers of\nproud exclusiveness, and prepares one to look for gracious qualities\namong people who have been previously treated with churlish\nindifference or positive animosity. Floods and earthquakes tame savage\nbeasts. On the battlefield wounded men gratefully accept relief from\ntheir mortal enemies. Conduct of this sort may be self-regarding,\nperhaps weak and cowardly; still it is an outcome of the natural\nbrotherhood of all mankind, any confession of which, however\nreluctant, is a welcome thing.\n\n  [125] i. 18.\n\nThe appeal to the nations contains three particulars. It deplores the\ncaptivity of the virgins and young men; the treachery of\nallies--\"lovers\" who have been called upon for assistance, but in\nvain; and the awful fact that men of such consequence as the elders\nand priests, the very aristocracy of Jerusalem, had died of\nstarvation after an ineffectual search for food--a lurid picture of\nthe horrors of the siege.[126] The details repeat themselves with but\nvery slight variations. It is natural for a great sufferer to revolve\nhis bitter morsel continuously. The action is a sign of its\nbitterness. The monotony of the dirge is a sure indication of the\ndepth of the trouble that occasions it. The theme is only too\ninteresting to the mourner, however wearisome it may become to the\nlistener.\n\n  [126] i. 18, 19.\n\nIn drawing to a close the appeal goes further, and, rising altogether\nabove man, seeks the attention of God.[127] It is not enough that\nevery passing traveller is arrested, nor even that the notice of all\nthe neighbouring nations is sought; this trouble is too great for\nhuman shoulders to bear. It will absorb the largest mass of sympathy,\nand yet thirst for more. Twice before in the first part of the elegy\nthe language of the poet speaking in his own person was interrupted by\nan outcry of Jerusalem to God.[128] Now the elegy closes with a fuller\nappeal to Heaven. This is an utterance of faith where faith is tried\nto the uttermost. It is distinctly recognised that the calamities\nbewailed have been sent by God; and yet the stricken city turns to God\nfor consolation. And the appeal is not at all in the form of a cry to\na tormentor for mercy; it seeks friendly sympathy and avenging\nactions. Nothing could more clearly prove the consciousness that God\nis not doing any wrong to His people. Not only is there no complaint\nagainst the justice of His acts; in spite of them all He is still\nregarded as the greatest Friend and Helper of the victims of His\nwrath.\n\n  [127] i. 20-2.\n\n  [128] i. 9, 11.\n\nThis apparently paradoxical position issues in what might otherwise be\na contradiction of thought. The ruin of Jerusalem is attributed to the\nrighteous judgment of God, against which no shadow of complaint is\nraised; and yet God is asked to pour vengeance on the heads of the\nhuman agents of His wrath! These people have been acting from their\nown evil, or at all events their own inimical motives. Therefore it is\nnot held that they deserve punishment for their conduct any the less\non account of the fact that they have been the unconscious instruments\nof Providence. The vengeance here sought for cannot be brought into\nline with Christian principles; but the poet had never heard the\nSermon on the Mount. It would not have occurred to him that the spirit\nof revenge was not right, any more than it occurred to the writers of\nmaledictory Psalms.\n\nThere is one more point in this final appeal to God which should be\nnoticed, because it is very characteristic of the elegy throughout.\nZion bewails her friendless condition, declaring, \"there is none to\ncomfort me.\"[129] This is the fifth reference to the absence of a\ncomforter.[130] The idea may be merely introduced in order to\naccentuate the description of utter desolation. And yet when we\ncompare the several allusions to it the conclusion seems to be forced\nupon us that the poet has a more specific intention. In some cases, at\nleast, he seems to have one particular comforter in mind, as, for\nexample, when he says, \"The comforter that should refresh my soul is\nfar from me.\"[131] Our thoughts instinctively turn to the Paraclete of\nSt. John's Gospel. It would not be reasonable to suppose that the\nelegist had attained to any definite conception of the Holy Spirit\nsuch as that of the ripe Christian revelation. But we have his own\nwords to witness that God is to him the supreme Comforter, is the Lord\nand Giver of life who refreshes his soul. It would seem, then, that\nthe poet's thought is like that of the author of the twenty-second\nPsalm, which was echoed in our Lord's cry of despair on the\ncross.[132] When God our Comforter hides the light of His countenance\nthe night is most dark. Yet the darkness is not always perceived, or\nits cause recognised. Then to miss the consolations of God\nconsciously, with pain, is the first step towards recovering them.\n\n  [129] i. 21.\n\n  [130] See i. 2, 9, 16, 17, 21.\n\n  [131] i. 16.\n\n  [132] Mark xv. 34.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n_GOD AS AN ENEMY_\n\nii. 1-9\n\n\nThe elegist, as we have seen, attributes the troubles of the Jews to\nthe will and action of God. In the second poem he even ventures\nfurther, and with daring logic presses this idea to its ultimate\nissues. If God is tormenting His people in fierce anger it must be\nbecause He is their enemy--so the sad-hearted patriot reasons. The\ncourse of Providence does not shape itself to him as a merciful\nchastisement, as a veiled blessing; its motive seems to be distinctly\nunfriendly. He drives his dreadful conclusion home with great\namplitude of details. In order to appreciate the force of it let us\nlook at the illustrative passage in two ways--first, in view of the\ncalamities inflicted on Jerusalem, all of which are here ascribed to\nGod, and then with regard to those thoughts and purposes of their\nDivine Author which appear to be revealed in them.\n\nFirst, then, we have the earthly side of the process. The daughter of\nZion is covered with a cloud.[133] The metaphor would be more striking\nin the brilliant East than it is to us in our habitually sombre\nclimate. There it would suggest unwonted gloom--the loss of the\ncustomary light of heaven, rare distress, and excessive melancholy.\nIt is a general, comprehensive image intended to overshadow all that\nfollows. Terrible disasters cover the aspect of all things from zenith\nto horizon. The physical darkness that accompanied the horrors of\nGolgotha is here anticipated, not indeed by any actual prophecy, but\nin idea.\n\n  [133] ii. 1.\n\nBut there is more than gloom. A mere cloud may lift, and discover\neverything unaltered by the passing shadow. The distress that has\nfallen on Jerusalem is not thus superficial and transient. She herself\nhas suffered a fatal fall. The beauty of Israel has been cast down\nfrom heaven to earth. The language is now varied; instead of \"the\ndaughter of Zion\" we have \"the beauty of Israel.\"[134] The use of the\nlarger title, \"Israel,\" is not a little significant. It shews that the\nelegist is alive to the idea of the fundamental unity of his race, a\nunity which could not be destroyed by centuries of inter-tribal\nwarfare. Although in the ungracious region of politics Israel stood\naloft from Judah, the two peoples were frequently treated as one by\npoets and prophets when religious ideas were in mind. Here apparently\nthe vastness of the calamities of Jerusalem has obliterated the memory\nof jealous distinctions. Similarly we may see the great English\nrace--British and American--forgetting national divisions in pursuit\nof its higher religious aims, as in Christian missions; and we may be\nsure that this blood-unity would be felt most keenly under the shadow\nof a great trouble on either side of the Atlantic. By the time of the\ndestruction of Jerusalem the northern tribes had been scattered, but\nthe use of the distinctive name of these people is a sign that the\nancient oneness of all who traced back their pedigree to the\npatriarch Jacob was still recognised. It is some compensation for the\nendurance of trouble to find it thus breaking down the middle wall of\npartition between estranged brethren.\n\n  [134] ii. 1.\n\nIt has been suggested with probability that by the expression \"the\nbeauty of Israel\" the elegist intended to indicate the temple. This\nmagnificent pile of buildings, crowning one of the hills of Jerusalem,\nand shining with gold in \"barbaric splendour,\" was the central object\nof beauty among all the people who revered the worship it enshrined.\nIts situation would naturally suggest the language here employed.\nJerusalem rises among the hills of Judah, some two thousand feet above\nthe sea-level; and when viewed from the wilderness in the south she\nlooks indeed like a city built in the heavens. But the physical\nexaltation of Jerusalem and her temple was surpassed by exaltation in\nprivilege, and prosperity, and pride. Capernaum, the vain city of the\nlake that would raise herself to heaven, is warned by Jesus that she\nshall be cast down to Hades.[135] Now not only Jerusalem, but the\nglory of the race of Israel, symbolised by the central shrine of the\nnational religion, is thus humiliated.\n\n  [135] Matt. xi. 23.\n\nStill keeping in mind the temple, the poet tells us that God has\nforgotten His footstool. He seems to be thinking of the Mercy-Seat\nover the ark, the spot at which God was thought to shew Himself\npropitious to Israel on the great Day of Atonement, and which was\nlooked upon as the very centre of the Divine presence. In the\ndestruction of the temple the holiest places were outraged, and the\nark itself carried off or broken up, and never more heard of. How\ndifferent was this from the story of the loss of the ark in the days\nof Eli, when the Philistines were constrained to send it home of their\nown accord! Now no miracle intervenes to punish the heathen for their\nsacrilege. Yes, surely God must have forgotten His footstool! So it\nseems to the sorrowful Jew, perplexed at the impunity with which this\ncrime has been committed.\n\nBut the mischief is not confined to the central shrine. It has\nextended to remote country regions and simple rustic folk. The\nshepherd's hut has shared the fate of the temple of the Lord. All the\nhabitations of Jacob--a phrase which in the original points to country\ncottages--have been swallowed up.[136] The holiest is not spared on\naccount of its sanctity, neither is the lowliest on account of its\nobscurity. The calamity extends to all districts, to all things, to\nall classes.\n\n  [136] ii. 2.\n\nIf the shepherd's cot is contrasted with the temple and the ark\nbecause of its simplicity, the fortress may be contrasted with this\ndefenceless hut because of its strength. Yet even the strongholds have\nbeen thrown down. More than this, the action of the Jews' army has\nbeen paralysed by the God who had been its strength and support in the\nglorious olden time. It is as though the right hand of the warrior had\nbeen seized from behind and drawn back at the moment when it was\nraised to strike a blow for deliverance. The consequence is that the\nflower of the army, \"all that were pleasant to the eye,\"[137] are\nslain. Israel herself is swallowed up, while her palaces and\nfortresses are demolished.\n\n  [137] ii. 4.\n\nThe climax of this mystery of Divine destruction is reached when God\ndestroys His own temple. The elegist returns to the dreadful subject\nas though fascinated by the terror of it. God has violently taken away\nHis tabernacle.[138] The old historic name of the sanctuary of Israel\nrecurs at this crisis of ruin; and it is particularly appropriate to\nthe image which follows, an image which possibly it suggested. If we\nare to understand the metaphor of the sixth verse as it is rendered in\nthe English Authorised and Revised Versions, we have to suppose a\nreference to some such booth of boughs as people were accustomed to\nput up for their shelter during the vintage, and which would be\nremoved as soon as it had served its temporary purpose. The solid\ntemple buildings had been swept away as easily as though they were\njust such flimsy structures, as though they had been \"of a garden.\"\nBut we can read the text more literally, and still find good sense in\nit. According to the strict translation of the original, God is said\nto have violently taken away His tabernacle \"as a garden.\" At the\nsiege of a city the fruit gardens that encircle it are the first\nvictims of the destroyer's axe. Lying out beyond the walls they are\nentirely unprotected, while the impediments they offer to the\nmovements of troops and instruments of war induce the commander to\norder their early demolition. Thus Titus had the trees cleared from\nthe Mount of Olives, so that one of the first incidents in the Roman\nsiege of Jerusalem must have been the destruction of the Garden of\nGethsemane. Now the poet compares the ease with which the great,\nmassive temple--itself a powerful fortress, and enclosed within the\ncity walls--was demolished, with the simple process of scouring the\noutlying gardens. So the place of assembly disappears, and with it\nthe assembly itself, so that even the sacred Sabbath is passed over\nand forgotten. Then the two heads of the nation--the king, its civil\nruler, and the priest, its ecclesiastical chief--are both despised in\nthe indignation of God's anger.\n\n  [138] ii. 6.\n\nThe central object of the sacred shrine is the altar, where earth\nseems to meet heaven in the high mystery of sacrifice. Here men seek\nto propitiate God; here too God would be expected to shew Himself\ngracious to men. Yet God has even cast off His altar, abhorring His\nvery sanctuary.[139] Where mercy is most confidently anticipated,\nthere of all places nothing but wrath and rejection are to be found.\nWhat prospect could be more hopeless?\n\n  [139] ii. 7.\n\nThe deeper thought that God rejects His sanctuary because His people\nhave first rejected Him is not brought forward just now. Yet this\nsolution of the mystery is prepared by a contemplation of the utter\nfailure of the old ritual of atonement. Evidently that is not always\neffective, for here it has broken down entirely; then can it ever be\ninherently efficacious? It cannot be enough to trust to a sanctuary\nand ceremonies which God Himself destroys. But further, out of this\nscene which was so perplexing to the pious Jew, there flashes to us\nthe clear truth that nothing is so abominable in the sight of God as\nan attempt to worship Him on the part of people who are living at\nenmity with Him. We can also perceive that if God shatters our\nsanctuary, perhaps He does so in order to prevent us from making a\nfetich of it. Then the loss of shrine and altar and ceremony may be\nthe saving of the superstitious worshipper who is thereby taught to\nturn to some more stable source of confidence.\n\nThis, however, is not the line of reflections followed by the elegist\nin the present instance. His mind is possessed with one dark, awful,\ncrushing thought. All this is God's work. And why has God done it? The\nanswer to that question is the idea that here dominates the mind of\nthe poet. It is because _God has become an enemy_! There is no attempt\nto mitigate the force of this daring idea. It is stated in the\nstrongest possible terms, and repeated again and again at every\nturn--Israel's cloud is the effect of God's anger; it has come in the\nday of His anger; God is acting with fierce anger, with a flaming fire\nof wrath. This must mean that God is decidedly inimical. He is\nbehaving as an adversary; He bends His bow; He manifests violence. It\nis not merely that God permits the adversaries of Israel to commit\ntheir ravages with impunity; God commits those ravages; He is Himself\nthe enemy. He shews indignation, He despises, He abhors. And this is\nall deliberate. The destruction is carried out with the same care and\nexactitude that characterise the erection of a building. It is as\nthough it were done with a measuring line. God surveys to destroy.\n\nThe first thing to be noticed in this unhesitating ascription to God\nof positive enmity is the striking evidence it contains of faith in\nthe Divine power, presence, and activity. These were no more visible\nto the mere observer of events in the destruction of Jerusalem than in\nthe shattering of the French empire at Sedan. In the one case as in\nthe other all that the world could see was a crushing military defeat\nand its fatal consequences. The victorious army of the Babylonians\nfilled the field as completely in the old time as that of the Germans\nin the modern event. Yet the poet simply ignores its existence. He\npasses it with sublime indifference, his mind filled with the thought\nof the unseen Power behind. He has not a word for Nebuchadnezzar,\nbecause he is assured that this mighty monarch is nothing but a tool\nin the hands of the real Enemy of the Jews. A man of smaller faith\nwould not have penetrated sufficiently beneath the surface to have\nconceived the idea of Divine enmity in connection with a series of\noccurrences so very mundane as the ravages of war. A heathenish faith\nwould have acknowledged in this defeat of Israel a triumph of the\nmight of Bel or Nebo over the power of Jehovah. But so convinced is\nthe elegist of the absolute supremacy of his God that no such idea is\nsuggested to him even as a temptation of unbelief. He knows that the\naction of the true God is supreme in everything that happens, whether\nthe event be favourable or unfavourable to His people. Perhaps it is\nonly owing to the dreary materialism of current thought that we should\nbe less likely to discover an indication of the enmity of God in some\nhuge national calamity.\n\nStill, although this idea of the elegist is a fruit of his unshaken\nfaith in the universal sway of God, it startles and shocks us, and we\nshrink from it almost as though it contained some blasphemous\nsuggestion. Is it ever right to think of God as the enemy of any man?\nIt would not be fair to pass judgment on the author of the\nLamentations on the ground of a cold consideration of this abstract\nquestion. We must remember the terrible situation in which he\nstood--his beloved city destroyed, the revered temple of his fathers a\nmass of charred ruins, his people scattered in exile and captivity,\ntortured, slaughtered; these were not circumstances to encourage a\ncourse of calm and measured reflection. We must not expect the\nsufferer to carry out an exact chemical analysis of his cup of woe\nbefore uttering an exclamation on its quality; and if it should be\nthat the burning taste induces him to speak too strongly of its\ningredients, we who only see him swallow it without being required to\ntaste a drop ourselves should be slow to examine his language too\nnicely. He who has never entered Gethsemane is not in a position to\nunderstand how dark may be the views of all things seen beneath its\nsombre shade. If the Divine sufferer on the cross could speak as\nthough His God had actually deserted Him, are we to condemn an Old\nTestament saint when he ascribes unspeakably great troubles to the\nenmity of God?\n\nIs this, then, but the rhetoric of misery? If it be no more, while we\nseek to sympathise with the feelings of a very dramatic situation, we\nshall not be called upon to go further and discover in the language of\nthe poet any positive teaching about God and His ways with man. But\nare we at liberty to stop short here? Is the elegist only expressing\nhis own feelings? Have we a right to affirm that there can be no\nobjective truth in the awful idea of the enmity of God?\n\nIn considering this question we must be careful to dismiss from our\nminds the unworthy associations that only too commonly attach\nthemselves to notions of enmity among men. Hatred cannot be ascribed\nto One whose deepest name is Love. No spite, malignity, or evil\npassion of any kind can be found in the heart of the Holy God. When\ndue weight is given to these negations very much that we usually see\nin the practice of enmity disappears. But this is not to say that the\nidea itself is denied, or the fact shown to be impossible.\n\nIn the first place, we have no warrant for asserting that God will\nnever act in direct and intentional opposition to any of His\ncreatures. There is one obvious occasion when He certainly does this.\nThe man who resists the laws of nature finds those laws working\nagainst Him. He is not merely running his head against a stone wall;\nthe laws are not inert obstructions in the path of the transgressor;\nthey represent forces in action. That is to say, they resist their\nopponent with vigorous antagonism. In themselves they are blind, and\nthey bear him no ill-will. But the Being who wields the forces is not\nblind or indifferent. The laws of nature are, as Kingsley said, but\nthe ways of God. If they are opposing a man God is opposing that man.\nBut God does not confine His action to the realm of physical\nprocesses. His providence works through the whole course of events in\nthe world's history. What we see evidently operating in nature we may\ninfer to be equally active in less visible regions. Then if we believe\nin a God who rules and works in the world, we cannot suppose that His\nactivity is confined to aiding what is good. It is unreasonable to\nimagine that He stands aside in passive negligence of evil. And if He\nconcerns Himself to thwart evil, what is this but manifesting Himself\nas the enemy of the evildoer?\n\nIt may be contended, on the other side, that there is a world of\ndifference between antagonistic actions and unfriendly feelings, and\nthat the former by no means imply the latter. May not God oppose a man\nwho is doing wrong, not at all because He is his Enemy, but just\nbecause He is his truest Friend? Is it not an act of real kindness to\nsave a man from himself when his own will is leading him astray? This\nof course must be granted, and being granted, it will certainly affect\nour views of the ultimate issues of what we may be compelled to\nregard in its present operation as nothing short of Divine antagonism.\nIt may remind us that the motives lying behind the most inimical\naction on God's part may be merciful and kind in their aims. Still,\nfor the time being, the opposition is a reality, and a reality which\nto all intents and purposes is one of enmity, since it resists,\nfrustrates, hurts.\n\nNor is this all. We have no reason to deny that God can have real\nanger. Is it not right and just that He should be \"angry with the\nwicked every day\"?[140] Would He not be imperfect in holiness, would\nHe not be less than God if He could behold vile deeds springing from\nvile hearts with placid indifference? We must believe that Jesus\nChrist was as truly revealing the Father when He was moved with\nindignation as when He was moved with compassion. His life shows quite\nclearly that He was the enemy of oppressors and hypocrites, and He\nplainly declared that He came to bring a sword.[141] His mission was a\nwar against all evil, and therefore, though not waged with carnal\nweapons, a war against evil men. The Jewish authorities were perfectly\nright in perceiving this fact. They persecuted Him as their enemy; and\nHe was their enemy. This statement is no contradiction to the gracious\ntruth that He desired to save all men, and therefore even these men.\nIf God's enmity to any soul were eternal it would conflict with His\nlove. It cannot be that He wishes the ultimate ruin of one of His own\nchildren. But if He is at the present time actively opposing a man,\nand if He is doing this in anger, in the wrath of righteousness\nagainst sin, it is only quibbling with words to deny that for the\ntime being He is a very real enemy to that man.\n\n  [140] Psalm vii. 11.\n\n  [141] Matt. x. 34.\n\nThe current of thought in the present day is not in any sympathy with\nthis idea of God as an Enemy, partly in its revulsion from harsh and\nun-Christlike conceptions of God, partly also on account of the modern\nhumanitarianism which almost loses sight of sin in its absorbing love\nof mercy. But the tremendous fact of the Divine enmity towards the\nsinful man so long as he persists in his sin is not to be lightly\nbrushed aside. It is not wise wholly to forget that \"our God is a\nconsuming fire.\"[142] It is in consideration of this dread truth that\nthe atonement wrought by His Son according to His own will of love is\ndiscovered to be an action of vital efficacy, and not a mere scenic\ndisplay.\n\n  [142] Heb. xii. 29.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n_THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN_\n\nii. 10-17\n\n\nPassion and poetry, when they fire the imagination, do more than\npersonify individual material things. By fusing the separate objects\nin the crucible of a common emotion which in some way appertains to\nthem all, they personify this grand unity, and so lift their theme\ninto the region of the sublime. Thus while in his second elegy the\nauthor of the Lamentations first dwells on the desolation of inanimate\nobjects,--the temple, fortresses, country cottages,--these are all of\ninterest to him only because they belong to Jerusalem, the city of his\nheart's devotion, and it is the city herself that moves his deepest\nfeelings; and when in the second part of the poem he proceeds to\ndescribe the miserable condition of living persons--men, women, and\nchildren--profoundly pathetic as the picture he now paints appears to\nus in its piteous details, it is still regarded by its author as a\nwhole, and the people's sufferings are so very terrible in his eyes\nbecause they are the woes of Jerusalem.\n\nSome attempt to sympathise with the large and lofty view of the\nelegist may be a wholesome corrective to the intense individualism of\nmodern habits of thought. The difficulty for us is to see that this\nview is not merely ideal, that it represents a great, solid truth,\nthe truth that the perfect human unit is not an individual, but a more\nor less extensive group of persons, mutually harmonised and organised\nin a common life, a society of some sort--the family, the city, the\nstate, mankind. By bearing this in mind we shall be able to perceive\nthat sufferings which in themselves might seem sordid and degrading\ncan attain to something of epic dignity.\n\nIt is in this spirit that the poet deplores the exile of the king and\nthe princes. He is not now concerned with the private troubles of\nthese exalted persons. Judah was a limited monarchy, though not after\nthe pattern of government familiar to us, but rather in the style of\nthe Plantagenet rule, according to which the sovereign shared his\nauthority with a number of powerful barons, each of whom was lord over\nhis own territory. The men described as \"the princes of Israel\" were\nnot, for the most part, members of the royal family; they were the\nheads of tribes and families. Therefore the banishment of these\npersons, together with the king, meant for the Jews who were left\nbehind the loss of their ruling authorities. Then it seems most\nreasonable to connect the clause which follows the reference to the\nexile with the sufferings of Jerusalem rather than with the hardships\nof the captives, because the whole context is concerned with the\nformer subject. This phrase read literally is, \"The law is not.\"[143]\nOur Revisers have followed the Authorised Version in connecting it\nwith the previous expression, \"among the nations,\" which describes the\nplace of exile, so as to lead us to read it as a statement that the\nking and the princes were enduring the hardship of residence in a land\nwhere their sacred _Torah_ was not observed. If, however, we take the\nwords in harmony with the surrounding thoughts, we are reminded by\nthem that the removal of the national rulers involved to the Jews the\ncessation of the administration of their law. The residents still left\nin the land were reduced to a condition of anarchy; or, if the\nconquerors had begun to administer some sort of martial law, this was\ntotally alien to the revered _Torah_ of Israel. Josiah had based his\nreformation on the discovery of the sacred law-book. But the mere\npossession of this was little consolation if it was not administered;\nfor the Jews had not fallen to the condition of the Samaritans of\nlater times who came to worship the roll of the Pentateuch as an idol.\nThey were not even like the scribes and Talmudists among their own\ndescendants, to whom the law itself was a religion, though only read\nin the cloister of the student. The loss of good government was to\nthem a very solid evil. In a civilised country, in times of peace and\norder, we breathe law as we breathe air, unconsciously, too familiar\nwith it to appreciate the immeasurable benefits it confers upon us.\n\n  [143] ii. 9.\n\nWith the banishment of the custodians of law the poet associates the\naccompanying silence of the voice of prophecy. This, however, is so\nimportant and significant a fact, that it must be reserved for\nseparate and fuller treatment.[144]\n\n  [144] See next chapter.\n\nNext to the princes come the elders, to whom was intrusted the\nadministration of justice in the minor courts. These were not sent\ninto captivity; for at first only the aristocracy was considered\nsufficiently important to be carried off to Babylon. But though the\nelders were left in the land, the country was too disorganised for\nthem to be able to hold their local tribunals. Perhaps these were\nforbidden by the invaders; perhaps the elders had no heart to decide\ncases when they saw no means of getting their decisions executed.\nAccordingly instead of appearing in dignity as the representatives of\nlaw and order among their neighbours the most respected citizens sit\nin silence on the ground, girded in sackcloth, and casting dust over\ntheir heads, living pictures of national mourning.[145]\n\n  [145] ii. 10.\n\nThe virgins of Jerusalem are named immediately after the elders. Their\nposition in the city is very different from that of the \"grave and\nreverend signiors\"; but we are to see that while the dignity of age\nand rank affords no immunity from trouble, the gladsomeness of youth\nand its comparative irresponsibility are equally ineffectual as\nsafeguards. The elders and the virgins have one characteristic in\ncommon. They are both silent. These young girls are the choristers\nwhose clear, sweet voices used to ring out in strains of joy at every\nfestival. Now both the grave utterances of magistrates and the blithe\nsinging of maidens are hushed into one gloomy silence. Formerly the\ngirls would dance to the sound of song and cymbal. How changed must\nthings be that the once gay dancers sit with their heads bowed to the\nground, as still as the mourning elders!\n\nBut now, like Dante when introduced by his guide to some exceptionally\nagonising spectacle in the infernal regions, the poet bursts into\ntears, and seems to feel his very being melting away at the\ncontemplation of the most heart-rending scene in the many mournful\ntableaux of the woes of Jerusalem. Breaking off from his recital of\nthe facts to express his personal distress in view of the next item,\nhe prepares us for some rare and dreadful exhibition of misery; and\nthe tale that he has to tell is quite enough to account for the start\nof horror with which it is ushered in. The poet makes us listen to the\ncry of the children. There are babies at the breast fainting from\nhunger, and older children, able to speak, but not yet able to\ncomprehend the helpless circumstances in which their miserable parents\nare placed, calling to their mothers for food and drink--a piercing\nappeal, enough to drive to the madness of grief and despair. Crying in\nvain for the first necessaries of life, these poor children, like the\nyounger infants, faint in the streets, and cast themselves on their\nmothers' bosoms to die.[146] This, then, is the picture in\ncontemplation of which the poet completely breaks down--children\nswooning in sight of all the people, and dying of hunger in their\nmothers' arms! He must be recalling scenes of the late siege. Then the\nfainting little ones, as they sank down pale and ill, resembled the\nwounded men who crept back from the fight by the walls to fall and die\nin the streets of the beleaguered city.\n\n  [146] ii. 11, 12.\n\nThis is just the sharpest sting in the sufferings of the children.\nThey share the fearful fate of their seniors, and yet they have had no\npart in the causes that led to it. We are naturally perplexed as well\nas distressed at this piteous spectacle of childhood. The beauty, the\nsimplicity, the weakness, the tenderness, the sensitiveness, the\nhelplessness of infancy appeal to our sympathies with peculiar force.\nBut over and above these touching considerations there is a mystery\nattaching to the whole subject of the presence of pain and sorrow in\nyoung lives that battles all reasoning. It is not only hard to\nunderstand why the bud should be blighted before it has had time to\nopen to the sunshine: this haste in the march of misery to meet her\nvictims on the threshold of life is to our minds a very amazing sight.\nAnd yet it is not the most perplexing part of the problem raised by\nthe mystery of the suffering of children.\n\nWhen we turn to the moral elements of the case we encounter its most\nserious difficulties. Children may not be accounted innocent in the\nabsolute sense of the word. Even unconscious infants come into the\nworld with hereditary tendencies to the evil habits of their\nancestors; but then every principle of justice resists the attachment\nof guilt or responsibility to an unsought and undeserved inheritance.\nAnd although children soon commit offences on their own account, it is\nnot the consequences of these youthful follies that here trouble us.\nThe cruel wrongs of childhood that overshadow the world's history with\nits darkest mystery have travelled on to their victims from quite\nother regions--regions of which the poor little sufferers are ignorant\nwith the ignorance of perfect innocence. Why do children thus share in\nevils they had no hand in bringing upon the community?\n\nIt is perhaps well that we should acknowledge quite frankly that there\nare mysteries in life which no ingenuity of thought can fathom. The\nsuffering of childhood is one of the greatest of these apparently\ninsoluble riddles of the universe. We have to learn that in view of\nsuch a problem as is here raised we too are but infants crying in the\nnight.\n\nStill there is no occasion for us to aggravate the riddle by adding\nto it manufactured difficulties; we may even admit such mitigation of\nits severity as the facts of the case suggest. When little children\nsuffer and die in their innocence they are free at least from those\nagonies of remorse for the irrecoverable past, and of apprehension\nconcerning the doom of the future, that haunt the minds of guilty men,\nand frequently far exceed the physical pains endured. Beneath their\nhardest woes they have a peace of God that is the counterpart of the\nmartyr's serenity.\n\nNevertheless, when we have said all that can be said in this\ndirection, there remains the sickening fact that children do suffer\nand pine and die. Still though this cannot be explained away, there\nare two truths that we should set beside it before we attempt to form\nany judgment on the whole subject. The first is that taught so\nemphatically by our Lord when He declared that the victims of an\naccident or the sufferers in an indiscriminate slaughter were not to\nbe accounted exceptional sinners.[147] But if suffering is by no means\na sign of sin in the victim we may go further, and deny that it is in\nall respects an evil. It may be impossible for us to accept the Stoic\nparadox in the case of little children whom even the greatest pedant\nwould scarcely attempt to console with philosophic maxims. In the\nendurance of them, the pain and sorrow and death of the young cannot\nbut seem to us most real evils, and it is our plain duty to do all in\nour power to check and stay everything of the kind. We must beware of\nthe indolence that lays upon Providence the burden of troubles that\nare really due to our own inconsiderateness. In pursuing the policy\nthat led to the disastrous siege of their city the Jews should have\nknown how many innocent victims would be dragged into the vortex of\nmisery if the course they had chosen were to fail. The blind obstinacy\nof the men who refused to listen to the warnings so emphatically\npronounced by the great prophets of Jehovah, the desperate self-will\nof these men, pitted against the declared counsel of God, must bear\nthe blame. It is monstrous to charge the providence of God with the\nconsequences of actions that God has forbidden.\n\n  [147] Luke xiii 1-5.\n\nA second truth must be added, for there still remains the difficulty\nthat children are placed, by no choice of their own, in circumstances\nthat render them thus liable to the effects of other people's sins and\nfollies. We can never understand human life if we persist in\nconsidering each person by himself. That we are members one of\nanother, so that if one member suffers all the members suffer, is the\nlaw of human experience as well as the principle of Christian\nchurchmanship. Therefore we must regard the wrongs of children that so\ndisturb us as part of the travail and woe of mankind. Bad as it is in\nitself that these innocents should be thus involved in the\nconsequences of the misconduct of their elders, it would not be any\nimprovement for them to be cut off from all connection with their\npredecessors in the great family of mankind. Taken on the whole, the\nsolidarity of man certainly makes more for the welfare of childhood\nthan for its disadvantage. And we must not think of childhood alone,\ndeeply as we are moved at the sight of its unmerited sufferings. If\nchildren are part of the race, whatever children endure must be taken\nas but one element in the vast experience that goes to make up the\nlife-history of mankind.\n\nAll this is very vague, and if we offer it as a consolation to a\nmother whose heart is torn with anguish at the sight of her child's\npain, it is likely she will think our balm no better than the wormwood\nof mockery. It would be vain for us to imagine that we have solved the\nriddle, and vainer to suppose that any views of life could be set\nagainst the unquestionable fact that innocent children suffer, as\nthough they in the slightest degree lessened the amount of this pain\nor made it appreciably easier to endure. But then, on the other hand,\nthe mere existence of all this terrible agony does not justify us in\nbursting out into tremendous denunciations of the universe. The\nthoughts that rise from a consideration of the wider relations of the\nfacts should teach us lessons of humility in forming our judgment on\nso vast a subject. We cannot deny the existence of evils that cry\naloud for notice; we cannot explain them away. But at least we can\nfollow the example of the elders and virgins of Israel, and be silent.\n\nThe portrait of misery that the poet has drawn in describing the\ncondition of Jerusalem during the siege is painful enough when viewed\nby itself; and yet he proceeds further, and seeks to deepen the\nimpression he has already made by setting the picture in a suitable\nframe. So he directs attention to the behaviour of surrounding\npeoples. Jerusalem is not permitted to hide her grief and shame. She\nis flung into an arena while a crowd of cruel spectators gloat over\nher agonies. These are to be divided into two classes, the unconcerned\nand the known enemies. There is not any great difference between them\nin their treatment of the miserable city. The unconcerned \"hiss and\nwag their heads\";[148] the enemies \"hiss and gnash their teeth.\"[149]\nThat is to say, both add to the misery of the Jews--the one class in\nmockery, the other in hatred. But what are these men at their worst?\nBehind them is the real Power that is the source of all the misery. If\nthe enemy rejoices it is only because God has given him the occasion.\nThe Lord has been carrying out His own deliberate intentions; nay,\nthese events are but the execution of commands He issued in the days\nof old.[150] This reads like an anticipation of the Calvinistic\ndecrees. But perhaps the poet is referring to the solemn threatening\nof Divine Judgment pronounced by a succession of prophets. Their\nmessage had been unheeded by their contemporaries. Now it has been\nverified by history. Remembering what that message was--how it\npredicted woes as the punishment of sins, how it pointed out a way of\nescape, how it threw all the responsibility upon those people who were\nso infatuated as to reject the warning--we cannot read into the poet's\nlines any notion of absolute predestination.\n\n  [148] ii. 15.\n\n  [149] ii. 16.\n\n  [150] ii. 17.\n\nIn the midst of this description of the miseries of Jerusalem the\nelegist confesses his own inability to comfort her. He searches for an\nimage large enough for a just comparison with such huge calamities as\nhe has in view. His language resembles that of our Lord when He\nexclaims, \"Whereunto shall I liken the kingdom of God?\"[151] a\nsimilarity which may remind us that if the troubles of man are great\nbeyond earthly analogy, so also are the mercies of God. Compare these\ntwo, and there can be no question as to which way the scale will turn.\nWhere sin and misery abound grace much more abounds. But now the poet\nis concerned with the woes of Jerusalem, and he can only find one\nimage with which these woes are at all comparable. Her breach, he\nsays, \"is great like the sea,\"[152] meaning that her calamities are\nvast and terrible as the sea; or perhaps that the ruin of Jerusalem is\nlike that produced by the breaking in of the sea--a striking image in\nits application to an inland mountain city; for no place was really\nsafer from any such cataclysm than Jerusalem. The analogy is\nintentionally far-fetched. What might naturally happen to Tyre, but\ncould not possibly reach Jerusalem, is nevertheless the only\nconceivable type of the events that have actually befallen this\nill-fated city. The Jews were not a maritime people. To them the sea\nwas no delight such as it is to us. They spoke of it with terror, and\nshuddered to hear from afar of its ravages. Now the deluge of their\nown troubles is compared to the great and terrible sea.\n\n  [151] Luke xiii. 20.\n\n  [152] ii. 13.\n\nThe poet can offer no comfort for such misery as this. His confession\nof helplessness agrees with what we must have perceived already,\nnamely, that the Book of Lamentations is not a book of consolations.\nIt is not always easy to see that the sympathy which mourns with the\nsufferer may be quite unable to relieve him. The too common mistake of\nthe friend who comes to show sympathy is Bildad's and his companions'\nnotion that he is called upon to offer advice. Why should one who is\nnot in the school of affliction assume the function of pedagogue to a\npupil of that school, who by reason of the mere fact of his presence\nthere should rather be deemed fit to instruct the outsider?\n\nIf he cannot comfort Jerusalem, however, the elegist will pray with\nher. His latest reference to the Divine source of the troubles of the\nJews leads him on to a cry to God for mercy on the miserable people.\nThough he may not yet see the gospel of grace which is the only thing\ngreater than the sin and misery of man, he can point towards the\ndirection in which that glorious gospel is to dawn on the eyes of\nweary sufferers. Here, if anywhere, is the solution of the mystery of\nmisery.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n_PROPHETS WITHOUT A VISION_\n\nii. 9, 14\n\n\nIn deploring the losses suffered by the daughter of Zion the elegist\nbewails the failure of her prophets to obtain a vision from Jehovah.\nHis language implies that these men were still lingering among the\nruins of the city. Apparently they had not been considered by the\ninvaders of sufficient importance to require transportation with\nZedekiah and the princes. Thus they were within reach of inquirers,\nand doubtless they were more than ever in request at a time when many\nperplexed persons were anxious for pilotage through a sea of troubles.\nIt would seem, too, that they were trying to execute their\nprofessional functions. They sought light; they looked in the right\ndirection--to God. Yet their quest was vain; no vision was given to\nthem; the oracles were dumb.\n\nTo understand the situation we must recollect the normal place of\nprophecy in the social life of Israel. The great prophets whose names\nand works have come down to us in Scripture were always rare and\nexceptional men--voices crying in the wilderness. Possibly they were\nnot more scarce at this time than at other periods. Jeremiah had not\nbeen disappointed in his search for a Divine message.[153] The\ngreatest seer of visions ever known to the world, Ezekiel, had\nalready appeared among the captives by the waters of Babylon. Before\nlong the sublime prophet of the restoration was to sound his trumpet\nblast to awaken courage and hope in the exiles. Though pitched in a\nminor key, these very elegies bear witness to the fact that their\ngentle author was not wholly deficient in prophetic fire. This was not\nan age like the time of Samuel's youth, barren of Divine voices.[154]\nIt is true that the inspired voices were now scattered over distant\nregions far from Jerusalem, the ancient seat of prophecy. Yet the idea\nof the elegist is that the prophets who might be still seen at the\nsite of the city were deprived of visions. These must have been quite\ndifferent men. Evidently they were the professional prophets,\nofficials who had been trained in music and dancing to appear as\nchoristers on festive occasions, the equivalent of the modern\ndervishes; but who were also sought after like the seer of Ramah, to\nwhom young Saul resorted for information about his father's lost\nasses, as simple soothsayers. Such assistance as these men were\nexpected to give was no longer forthcoming at the request of troubled\nsouls.\n\n  [153] See Jer. xlii. 4, 7.\n\n  [154] See 1 Sam. iii. 1.\n\nThe low and sordid uses to which every-day prophecy was degraded may\nincline us to conclude that the cessation of it was no very great\ncalamity, and perhaps to suspect that from first to last the whole\nbusiness was a mass of superstition affording large opportunities for\ncharlatanry. But it would be rash to adopt this extreme view without a\nfuller consideration of the subject. The great messengers of Jehovah\nfrequently speak of the professional prophets with the contempt of\nSocrates for the professional sophists; and yet the rebukes which\nthey administer to these men for their unfaithfulness show that they\naccredit them with important duties and the gifts with which to\nexecute them.\n\nThus the lament of the elegist suggests a real loss--something more\nserious than the failure of assistance such as some Roman Catholics\ntry to obtain from St. Anthony in the discovery of lost property. The\nprophets were regarded as the media of communication between heaven\nand earth. It was because of the low and narrow habits of the people\nthat their gifts were often put to low and narrow uses which savoured\nrather of superstition than of devotion. The belief that God did not\nonly reveal His will to great persons and on momentous occasions\nhelped to make Israel a religious nation. That there were humble gifts\nof prophecy within the reach of the many, and that these gifts were\nfor the helping of men and women in their simplest needs, was one of\nthe articles of the Hebrew faith. The quenching of a host of smaller\nstars may involve as much loss of life as that of a few brilliant\nones. If prophecy fades out from among the people, if the vision of\nGod is no longer perceptible in daily life, if the Church, as a whole,\nis plunged into gloom, it is of little avail to her that a few choice\nsouls here and there pierce the mists like solitary mountain peaks so\nas to stand alone in the clear light of heaven. The perfect condition\nwould be that in which \"all the Lord's people were prophets.\" If this\nis not yet attainable, at all events we may rejoice when the capacity\nfor communion with heaven is widely enjoyed, and we must deplore it as\none of the greatest calamities of the Church that the quickening\ninfluence of the prophetic spirit should be absent from her\nassemblies. The Jews had not fallen so low that they could\ncontemplate the cessation of communications with heaven unmoved. They\nwere far from the practical materialism which leads its victims to be\nperfectly satisfied to remain in a condition of spiritual paralysis--a\ntotally different thing from the theoretical materialism of Priestley\nand Tyndall. They knew that \"man shall not live by bread alone, but by\nevery word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God\"; and therefore\nthey understood that a famine of the word of God must result in as\nreal a starvation as a famine of wheat. When we have succeeded in\nrecovering this Hebrew standpoint we shall be prepared to recognise\nthat there are worse calamities than bad harvests and seasons of\ncommercial depression; we shall be brought to acknowledge that it is\npossible to be starved in the midst of plenty, because the greatest\nabundance of such food as we have lacks the elements requisite for our\ncomplete nourishment. According to reports of sanitary authorities,\nchildren in Ireland are suffering from the substitution of the less\nexpensive and sweeter diet of maize for the more wholesome oatmeal on\nwhich their parents were brought up. Must it not be confessed that a\nsimilar substitution of cheap and savoury soul pabulum--in literature,\nmusic, amusements--for the \"sincere milk of the word\" and the \"strong\nmeat\" of truth is the reason why so many of us are not growing up to\nthe stature of Christ? The \"liberty of prophesying\" for which our\nfathers contended and suffered is ours. But it will be a barren\nheritage if in cherishing the liberty we lose the prophesying. There\nis no gift enjoyed by the Church for which she should be more jealous\nthan that of the prophetic spirit.\n\nAs we look across the wide field of history we must perceive that\nthere have been many dreary periods in which the prophets could find\nno vision from the Lord. At first sight it would even seem that the\nlight of heaven only shone on a few rare luminous spots, leaving the\ngreater part of the world and the longer periods of time in absolute\ngloom. But this pessimistic view results from our limited capacity to\nperceive the light that is there. We look for the lightning. But\ninspiration is not always electric. The prophet's vision is not\nnecessarily startling. It is a vulgar delusion to suppose that\nrevelation must assume a sensational aspect. It was predicted of the\nWord of God incarnate that He should not \"strive, or cry, or lift up\nHis voice\";[155] and when He came He was rejected because He would not\nsatisfy the wonder-seekers with a flaring portent--a \"sign from\nheaven.\" Still it cannot be denied that there have been periods of\nbarrenness. They are found in what might be called the secular regions\nof the operation of the Spirit of God. A brilliant epoch of scientific\ndiscovery, artistic invention, or literary production is followed by a\ntime of torpor, feeble imitation, or meretricious pretence. The\nAugustan and Elizabethan ages cannot be conjured back at will.\nProphets of nature, poets, and artists can none of them command the\npower of inspiration. This is a gift which may be withheld, and which,\nwhen denied, will elude the most earnest pursuit. We may miss the\nvision of prophecy when the prophets are as numerous as ever, and\nunfortunately as vocal. The preacher possesses learning and rhetoric.\nWe only miss one thing in him--inspiration. But, alas! that is just\nthe one thing needful.\n\n  [155] Isa. xlii. 1.\n\nNow the question forces itself upon our attention, what is the\nexplanation of these variations in the distribution of the spirit of\nprophecy? Why is the fountain of inspiration an intermittent spring, a\nBethesda? We cannot trace its failure to any shortness of supply, for\nthis fountain is fed from the infinite ocean of the Divine life.\nNeither can we attribute caprice to One whose wisdom is infinite, and\nwhose will is constant. It may be right to say that God withholds the\nvision, withholds it deliberately; but it cannot be correct to assert\nthat this fact is the final explanation of the whole matter. God must\nbe believed to have a reason, a good and sufficient reason, for\nwhatever He does. Can we guess what His reason may be in such a case\nas this? It may be conjectured that it is necessary for the field to\nlie fallow for a season in order that it may bring forth a better crop\nsubsequently. Incessant cultivation would exhaust the soil. The eye\nwould be blinded if it had no rest from visions. We may be overfed;\nand the more nutritious our diet is the greater will be the danger of\nsurfeit. One of our chief needs in the use of revelation is that we\nshould thoroughly digest its contents. What is the use of receiving\nfresh visions if we have not yet assimilated the truth that we already\npossess? Sometimes, too, no vision can be found for the simple reason\nthat no vision is needed. We waste ourselves in the pursuit of\nunprofitable questions when we should be setting about our business.\nUntil we have obeyed the light that has been given us it is foolish to\ncomplain that we have not more light. Even our present light will wane\nif it is not followed up in practice.\n\nBut while considerations such as these must be attended to if we are\nto form a sound judgment on the whole question, they do not end the\ncontroversy, and they scarcely apply at all to the particular\nillustration of it that is now before us. There is no danger of\nsurfeit in a famine; and it is a famine of the word that we are now\nconfronted with. Moreover, the elegist supplies an explanation that\nsets all conjectures at rest.\n\nThe fault was in the prophets themselves. Although the poet does not\nconnect the two statements together, but inserts other matter between\nthem, we cannot fail to see that his next words about the prophets\nbear very closely on his lament over the denial of visions. He tells\nus that they had seen visions of vanity and foolishness.[156] This is\nwith reference to an earlier period. Then they had had their visions;\nbut these had been empty and worthless. The meaning cannot be that the\nprophets had been subject to unavoidable delusions, that they had\nsought truth, but had been rewarded with deception. The following\nwords show that the blame was attributed entirely to their own\nconduct. Addressing the daughter of Zion the poet says: \"Thy prophets\nhave seen visions _for thee_.\" The visions were suited to the people\nto whom they were declared--manufactured, shall we say?--with the\nexpress purpose of pleasing them. Such a degradation of sacred\nfunctions in gross unfaithfulness deserved punishment; and the most\nnatural and reasonable punishment was the withholding for the future\nof true visions from men who in the past had forged false ones. The\nvery possibility of this conduct proves that the influence of\ninspiration had not the hold upon these Hebrew prophets that it had\nobtained over the heathen prophet Balaam, when he exclaimed, in face\nof the bribes and threats of the infuriated king of Moab: \"If Balak\nwould give me his house full of silver and gold, I cannot go beyond\nthe word of the Lord, to do either good or bad of mine own mind; what\nthe Lord speaketh, that will I speak.\"[157]\n\n  [156] ii. 14.\n\n  [157] Numb. xxiv. 13.\n\nIt must ever be that unfaithfulness to the light we have already\nreceived will bar the door against the advent of more light. There is\nnothing so blinding as the habit of lying. People who do not speak\ntruth ultimately prevent themselves from perceiving truth, the false\ntongue leading the eye to see falsely. This is the curse and doom of\nall insincerity. It is useless to enquire for the views of insincere\npersons; they can have no distinct views, no certain convictions,\nbecause their mental vision is blurred by their long-continued habit\nof confounding true and false. Then if for once in their lives such\npeople may really desire to find a truth in order to assure themselves\nin some great emergency, and therefore seek a vision of the Lord, they\nwill have lost the very faculty of receiving it.\n\nThe blindness and deadness that characterise so much of the history of\nthought and literature, art and religion, are to be attributed to the\nsame disgraceful cause. Greek philosophy decayed in the insincerity of\nprofessional sophistry. Gothic art degenerated into the florid\nextravagance of the Tudor period when it had lost its religious\nmotive, and had ceased to be what it pretended. Elizabethan poetry\npassed through euphuism into the uninspired conceits of the sixteenth\ncentury. Dryden restored the habit of true speech, but it required\ngenerations of arid eighteenth century sincerity in literature to make\nthe faculty of seeing visions possible to the age of Burns and Shelley\nand Wordsworth.\n\nIn religion this fatal effect of insincerity is terribly apparent. The\nformalist can never become a prophet. Creeds which were kindled in the\nfires of passionate conviction will cease to be luminous when the\nfaith that inspired them has perished; and then if they are still\nrepeated as dead words by false lips the unreality of them will not\nonly rob them of all value, it will blind the eyes of the men and\nwomen who are guilty of this falsehood before God, so that no new\nvision of truth can be brought within their reach. Here is one of the\nsnares that attach themselves to the privilege of receiving a heritage\nof teaching from our ancestors. We can only avoid it by means of\nsearching inquests over the dead beliefs which a foolish fondness has\npermitted to remain unburied, poisoning the atmosphere of living\nfaith. So long as the fact that they are dead is not honestly admitted\nit will be impossible to establish sincerity in worship; and the\ninsincerity, while it lasts, will be an impassable barrier to the\nadvent of truth.\n\nThe elegist has laid his finger on the particular form of untruth of\nwhich the Jerusalem prophets had been guilty. They had not discovered\nher iniquity to the daughter of Zion.[158] Thus they had hastened her\nruin by keeping back the message that would have urged their hearers\nto repentance. Some interpreters have given quite a new turn to the\nlast clause of the fourteenth verse. Literally this states that the\nprophets have seen \"drivings away\"; and accordingly it has been taken\nto mean that they pretended to have had visions about the captivity\nwhen this was an accomplished fact, although they had been silent on\nthe subject, or had even denied the danger, at the earlier time when\nalone their words could have been of any use; or, again, the words\nhave been thought to suggest that these prophets were now at the later\nperiod predicting fresh calamities, and were blind to the vision of\nhope which a true prophet like Jeremiah had seen and declared. But\nsuch ideas are over-refined, and they give a twist to the course of\nthought that is foreign to the form of these direct, simple elegies.\nIt seems better to take the final clause of the verse as a repetition\nof what went before, with a slight variety of form. Thus the poet\ndeclares that the burdens, or prophecies, which these unfaithful men\nhave presented to the people have been causes of banishment.\n\n  [158] ii. 14.\n\nThe crying fault of the prophets is their reluctance to preach to\npeople of their sins. Their mission distinctly involves the duty of\ndoing so. They should not shun to declare the whole counsel of God. It\nis not within the province of the ambassador to make selections from\namong the despatches with which he has been entrusted in order to suit\nhis own convenience. There is nothing that so paralyses the work of\nthe preacher as the habit of choosing favourite topics and ignoring\nless attractive subjects. Just in proportion as he commits this sin\nagainst his vocation he ceases to be the prophet of God, and descends\nto the level of one who deals in _obiter dicta_, mere personal\nopinions to be taken on their own merits. One of the gravest possible\nomissions is the neglect to give due weight to the tragic fact of sin.\nAll the great prophets have been conspicuous for their fidelity to\nthis painful and sometimes dangerous part of their work. If we would\ncan up a typical picture of a prophet in the discharge of his task, we\nshould present to our minds Elijah confronting Ahab, or John the\nBaptist before Herod, or Savonarola accusing Lorenzo de Medici, or\nJohn Knox preaching at the court of Mary Stuart. He is Isaiah\ndeclaring God's abomination of sacrifices and incense when these are\noffered by blood-stained hands, or Chrysostom seizing the opportunity\nthat followed the mutilation of the imperial statues at Antioch to\npreach to the dissolute city on the need of repentance, or Latimer\ndenouncing the sins of London to the citizens assembled at Paul's\nCross.\n\nThe shallow optimism that disregards the shadows of life is trebly\nfaulty when it appears in the pulpit. It falsifies facts in failing to\ntake account of the stern realities of the evil side of them; it\nmisses the grand opportunity of rousing the consciences of men and\nwomen by forcing them to attend to unwelcome truths, and thus\nencourages the heedlessness with which people rush headlong to ruin;\nand at the same time it even renders the declaration of the gracious\ntruths of the gospel, to which it devotes exclusive attention,\nineffectual, because redemption is meaningless to those who do not\nrecognise the present slavery and the future doom from which it brings\ndeliverance. On every account the rose-water preaching that ignores\nsin and flatters its hearers with pleasant words is thin, insipid, and\nlifeless. It tries to win popularity by echoing the popular wishes;\nand it may succeed in lulling the storm of opposition with which the\nprophet is commonly assailed. But in the end it must be sterile. When,\n\"through fear or favour,\" the messenger of heaven thus prostitutes\nhis mission to suit the ends of a low, selfish, worldly expediency,\nthe very least punishment with which his offence can be visited is for\nhim to be deprived of the gifts he has so grossly abused. Here, then,\nwe have the most specific explanation of the failure of heavenly\nvisions; it comes from the neglect of earthly sin. This is what breaks\nthe magician's wand, so that he can no longer summon the Ariel of\ninspiration to his aid.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n_THE CALL TO PRAYER_\n\nii. 18-22\n\n\nIt is not easy to analyse the complicated construction of the\nconcluding portion of the second elegy. If the text is not corrupt its\ntransitions are very abrupt. The difficulty is to adjust the relations\nof three sections. First we have the sentence, \"Their heart cried unto\nthe Lord.\" Next comes the address to the wall. \"O wall of the daughter\nof Zion,\" etc. Lastly, there is the prayer which extends from verse 20\nto the end of the poem.\n\nThe most simple grammatical arrangement is to take the first clause in\nconnection with the preceding verse. The last substantive was the word\n\"adversaries.\" Therefore in the rigour of grammar the pronoun should\nrepresent that word. Read thus, the sentence relates an action of the\nenemies of Israel when their horn has been exalted. The word rendered\n\"cried\" is one that would designate a loud shout, and that translated\n\"Lord\" here is not the sacred name _Jehovah_ but _Adonai_, a general\nterm that might very well be used in narrating the behaviour of the\nheathen towards God. Thus the phrase would seem to describe the\ninsolent shout of triumph which the adversaries of the Jews fling at\nthe God of their victims.\n\nOn the other hand, it is to be observed that the general title \"Lord\"\n(_Adonai_) is also employed in the very next verse in the direct call\nto prayer. The heart, too, is mentioned again there as it is here, and\nthat to express the inner being and deepest feelings of the afflicted\ncity. It seems unlikely that the elegist would mention a heart-cry of\nthe enemies and describe this as addressed to \"The Lord.\"\n\nProbably then we should apply this opening clause to the Jews,\nalthough they had not been named in the near context, a construction\nfavoured by the abrupt transitions in which the elegist indulges\nelsewhere. It is the heart of the Jews that cried unto the Lord. Now\nthe question arises, How shall we take this assertion in view of the\nwords that follow? The common reading supposes that it introduces the\nimmediately succeeding sentences. The heart of the Jews calls to the\nwall of the daughter of Zion, and bids it arise and pray. But with\nthis construction we should look for another word (such as \"saying\")\nto introduce the appeal, because the Hebrew word rendered \"cried\" is\nusually employed absolutely, and not as the preface to quoted speech.\nBesides, the ideas would be strangely involved. Some people,\nindefinitely designated \"they,\" exhort the wall to weep and pray! How\ncan this exhortation to a wall be described as a calling to the Lord?\nThe complication is increased when the prayer follows sharply on the\nanonymous appeal without a single connecting or explanatory clause.\n\nA simpler interpretation is to follow Calvin in rendering the first\nclause absolutely, but still applying it to the Jews, who, though they\nare not named here, are supposed to be always in mind. We may not\nagree with the stern theologian of Geneva in asserting that the cry\nthus designated is one of impatient grief flowing not \"from a right\nfeeling or from the true fear of God, but from the strong and turbid\nimpulse of nature.\" The elegist furnishes no excuse for this somewhat\nungracious judgment. After his manner, already familiar to us, the\npoet interjects a thought--viz., that the distressed Jews cried to\nGod. This suggests to him the great value of the refuge of prayer, a\ntopic on which he forthwith proceeds to enlarge first by making an\nappeal to others, and then by himself breaking out into the direct\nlanguage of petition.\n\nThis is not the first occasion on which the elegist has shown his\nfaith in the efficacy of prayer. But hitherto he has only uttered\nbrief exclamations in the middle of his descriptive passages. Now he\ngives a solemn call to prayer, and follows this with a deliberate,\nfull petition, addressed to God. We must feel that the elegy is lifted\nto a higher plane by the new turn that the thought of its author takes\nat this place. Grief is natural; it is useless to pretend to be\nimpassive; and, although our Teutonic habits of reserve may make it\ndifficult for us to sympathise with the violent outbursts that an\nOriental permits himself without any sense of shame, we must admit\nthat a reasonable expression of the emotions is good and wholesome.\nTennyson recognises this in the well-known lyric where he says of the\ndead warrior's wife--\n\n  \"She must weep or she will die.\"\n\nNevertheless, an unchecked rush of feeling, not followed by any\naction, cannot but evince weakness; it has no lifting power. Although,\nif the emotion is distressful, such an expression may give relief to\nits subject, it is certainly very depressing to the spectator. For\nthis reason the Book of Lamentations strikes us as the most depressing\npart of the Bible--would it not be just to say, as the _only_ part\nthat can be so described? But it would not be fair to this Book to\nsuppose that it did nothing beyond realising the significance of its\ntitle. It contains more than a melancholy series of laments. In the\npassage before us the poet raises his voice to a higher strain.\n\nThis new and more elevated turn in the elegy is itself suggestive. The\ntransition from lamentation to prayer is always good for the sufferer.\nThe first action may relieve his pent-up emotions; it cannot destroy\nthe source from which they flow. But prayer is more practical, for it\naims at deliverance. That, however, is its least merit. In the very\nact of seeking help from God the soul is brought into closer relations\nwith Him, and this condition of communion is a better thing than any\nresults that can possibly follow in the form of answers to the prayer,\ngreat and helpful as these may be. The trouble that drives us to\nprayer is a blessing because the state of a praying soul is a blessed\nstate.\n\nLike the _muezzin_ on his minaret, the elegist calls to prayer. But\nhis exhortation is addressed to a strange object--to the _wall_ of the\ndaughter of Zion. This wall is to let its tears flow like a river. It\nis so far personified that mention is made of the apple of its eye; it\nis called upon to arise, to pour out its heart, to lift up its hands.\nThe license of Eastern poetry permits the unflinching application of a\nmetaphor to an extent that would be considered extravagant and even\nabsurd in our own literature. It is only in a travesty of melodrama\nthat Shakespeare permits the Thisbe of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ to\naddress a wall. Browning has an exquisitely beautiful little poem\napostrophising an old wall; but this is not done so as to leave out of\naccount the actual form and nature of his subject. Walls can not only\nbe beautiful and even sublime, as Mr. Ruskin has shewn in his _Stones\nof Venice_; they may also wreathe their severe outlines in a multitude\nof thrilling associations. This is especially so when, as in the\npresent instance, it is the wall of a city that we are contemplating.\nNot a new piece of builder's work, neat and clean and bald, bare of\nall associations, as meaningless as in too many cases it is ugly, but\nan old wall, worn by the passing to and fro of generations that have\nturned to dust long years ago, bearing the bruises of war on its\nbattered face, crumbling to powder, or perhaps half buried in\nweeds--such a wall is eloquent in its wealth of associations, and\nthere is pathos in the thought of its mere age when this is considered\nin relation to the many men and women and children who have rested\nbeneath its shadow at noon, or sheltered themselves behind its solid\nmasonry amid the terrors of war. The walls that encircle the ancient\nEnglish city of Chester and keep alive memories of mediaeval life, the\nbits of the old London wall that are left standing among the\nwarehouses and offices of the busy mart of modern commerce, even the\nremote wall of China for quite different reasons, and many another\nfamous wall, suggest to us multitudinous reflections. But the walls of\nJerusalem surpass them all in the pathos of the memories that cling to\ntheir old grey stones. It does not require a great stretch of\nimagination to picture these walls as once glowing and throbbing with\nan intense life, and now dreaming over the unfathomable depths of\nage-long memories.\n\nIn personifying the wall of Zion, however, the Hebrew poet does not\nindulge in reflections such as these, which are more in harmony with\nthe mild melancholy of Gray's _Elegy_ than with the sadder mood of the\nmourning patriot. He names the wall to give unity and concreteness to\nhis appeal, and to clothe it in an atmosphere of poetic fancy. But his\nsober thought in the background is directed towards the citizens whom\nthat historic wall once enclosed. Herein is his justification for\ncarrying his personification so far. This is more than a wild\napostrophe, the outburst of an excited poet's fancy. The imaginative\nconceit wings the arrow of a serious purpose.\n\nLet us look at the appeal in detail. First the elegist encourages a\nfree outflow of grief, that tears should run like a river, literally,\nlike a torrent--the allusion being to one of those steep watercourses\nwhich, though dry in summer, become rushing floods in the rainy\nseason. This introduction shews that the call to prayer is not\nintended in any sense as a rebuke for the natural expression of grief,\nnor as a denial of its existence. The sufferers cannot say that the\npoet does not sympathise with them. It might seem needless to give\nthis assurance. But anybody who has attempted to offer exhortation to\na person in trouble must have discovered how delicate his task is. Let\nhim approach the subject as carefully as he may, it is almost certain\nthat he will chafe the quivering nerves he desires to soothe, so\nsensitive is the soul in pain to any interference from without. Under\nthese circumstances, the one method by which it is at all possible to\nsmooth the way of approach is an expression of genuine sympathy.\n\nThere may be a deeper reason for this encouragement of the expression\nof grief as a preliminary to a call to prayer. The helplessness which\nit so eloquently proclaims is just the condition in which the soul is\nmost ready to cast itself on the mercy of God. Calm fortitude must\nalways be better than an undisciplined abandonment to grief. But\nbefore this has been attained there may come an apathy of despair,\nunder the influence of which the feelings are simply benumbed. That\napathy is the very opposite to drying up the fountain of grief as it\nmay be dried in the sunshine of love; it is freezing it. The first\nstep towards deliverance will be to melt the glacier. The soul must\nfeel before it can pray. Therefore the tears are encouraged to run\nlike torrents, and the sufferer to give himself no respite, nor let\nthe apple of his eye cease from weeping.\n\nNext the poet exhorts the object of his sympathy--this strange\npersonification of the \"wall of the daughter of Zion,\" under the image\nof which he is thinking of the Jews--to arise. The weeping is but a\npreliminary to more promising acts. The sufferer is not to spend the\nlong night in an unbroken flow of grief, like the psalmist \"watering\nhis couch with his tears.\"[159] The very opposite attitude is now\nsuggested. Grief must not be treated as a normal condition, to be\nacquiesced in or even encouraged. The victim is tempted to cherish his\nsorrow as a sacred charge, to feel hurt if any mitigation of it is\nsuggested, or ashamed of confessing that relief has been received.\nWhen he has reached this condition it is obvious that the substance of\ngrief has passed; the ghost of it that remains is fast becoming a\nharmless sentiment. If, however, the trouble should be still\nmaintaining the tightness of its grip on the heart, there is positive\ndanger in permitting it to be indulged without intermission. The\nsufferer must be roused if he is to be saved from the disease of\n_melancholia_.\n\n  [159] Psalm vi. 6.\n\nHe must be roused also if he would pray. True prayer is a strenuous\neffort of the soul, requiring the most wakeful attention and taxing\nthe utmost energy of will. The Jew stood up to pray with hands\noutstretched to heaven. The relaxed and feeble devotions of a\nsomnolent worshipper must fall flat and fruitless. There is no value\nin the length of a prayer, but there is much in its depth. It is the\nweight of its earnestness, not the comprehensiveness of its topics,\nthat gives it efficacy. Therefore we must gird up our loins to pray\njust as we would to work, or run, or fight.\n\nNow the awakened soul is urged to cry out in the night, and in the\nbeginning of the night watches--that is to say, not only at the\ncommencement of the night, for this would require no rousing, but at\nthe beginning of each of the three watches into which the Hebrews\ndivided the hours of darkness--at sunset, at ten o clock, and at two\nin the morning. The sufferer is to keep watch with prayer--observing\nhis vespers, his nocturns, and his matins, not of course to fulfil\nforms, but because, since his grief is continuous, his prayer also\nmust not cease. This is all assigned to the night, perhaps because\nthat is a quiet, solemn season for undisturbed reflection, when\ntherefore the grief that requires the prayer is most acutely felt; or\nperhaps because the time of sorrow is naturally pictured as a night,\nas a season of darkness.\n\nProceeding with our consideration of the details of this call to\nprayer, we come upon the exhortation to pour out the heart like water\nbefore the face of the Lord. The image here used is not without\nparallel in scripture. Thus a psalmist exclaims--\n\n  \"I am poured out like water,\n  And all my bones are out of joint;\n  My heart is like wax;\n  It is melted in the midst of my bowels.\"[160]\n\n  [160] Psalm xxii. 14.\n\nBut the ideas are not just the same in the two cases. While the\npsalmist thinks of himself as crushed and shattered, as though his\nvery being were dissolved, the thought of the elegist has more action\nabout it, with a deliberate intention and object in view. His image\nsuggests complete openness before God. Nothing is to be withheld. It\nis not so much that the secrets of the soul are to be disclosed. The\nend aimed at is not confession, but confidence. Therefore what the\nwriter would urge is that the sufferer should tell the whole tale of\nhis grief to God, quite freely, without any reserve, trusting\nabsolutely to the Divine sympathy.\n\nThis confidence is a primary requisite in prayer. Until we can trust\nour Father it is useless to petition for his aid; we could not avail\nourselves of it if it were offered us. Indeed, the soul must come into\nrelations of sympathy with God before any real prayer is at all\npossible.\n\nWe may go further. The attitude of soul that is here recommended is in\nitself the very essence of prayer. The devotions that consist in a\nseries of definite petitions are of secondary worth, and superficial\nin comparison with this outpouring of the heart before God. To enter\ninto relations of sympathy and confidence with God is to pray in the\ntruest, deepest way possible, or even conceivable. Prayer in the\nheart of it is not petition; that is the beggar's resort. It is\ncommunion--the child's privilege. We must often be as beggars, empty\nof everything before God; yet we may also enjoy the happier\nrelationship of sonship with our Father. Even in the extremity of need\nperhaps the best thing we can do is to spread out the whole case\nbefore God. It will certainly relieve our own minds to do so, and\neverything will appear changed when viewed in the light of the Divine\npresence. Perhaps we shall then cease to think ourselves aggrieved and\nwronged; for what are our deserts before the holiness of God? Passion\nis allayed in the stillness of the sanctuary, and the indignant\nprotest dies upon our lips as we proceed to lay our case before the\neyes of the All-Seeing. We cannot be impatient any longer; He is so\npatient with us, so fair, so kind, so good. Thus when we cast our\nburden upon the Lord we may be surprised with the discovery that it is\nnot so heavy as we supposed. There are times when it is not possible\nfor us to go any further. We do not know what relief to ask for, or\neven whether we should request to be in any way delivered from a load\nwhich it may be our duty to bear, or the endurance of which may be a\nmost wholesome discipline for us. These possibilities must always put\na restraint upon the utterance of positive petitions. But they do not\napply to the prayer that is a simple act of confidence in God. The\nsecret of failure in prayer is not that we do not ask enough; it is\nthat we do not pour out our hearts before God, the restraint of\nconfidence rising from fear or doubt simply paralysing the energies of\nprayer. Jesus teaches us to pray not only because He gives us a model\nprayer, but much more because He is in Himself so true and full and\nwinsome a revelation of God, that as we come to know and follow Him\nour lost confidence in God is restored. Then the heart that knows its\nown bitterness, and that shrinks from permitting the stranger even to\nmeddle with its joy--how much more then with its sorrow?--can pour\nitself out quite freely before God, for the simple reason that He is\nno longer a stranger, but the one perfectly intimate and absolutely\ntrusted Friend.\n\nIt is to be noted that the elegist points to a definite occasion for\nthe outpouring of the heart before God. He singles out specifically\nthe sufferings of the starving children--a terrible subject that\nappears more than once in this elegy, shewing how the horror of it has\nfastened on the imagination of the poet. This was the most\nheart-rending and mysterious ingredient in the bitter cup of the woes\nof Jerusalem. If we may bring any trouble to God we may bring the\nworst trouble. So this becomes the main topic of the prayer that\nfollows. Here the cases of the principal victims are cited. Priest and\nprophet, notwithstanding the dignity of office, young man and maiden,\nold man and little child--all alike have fallen victims. The ghastly\nincident of a siege, where hunger has reduced human beings to the\nlevel of savage beasts, women devouring their own children, is here\ncited, and its cause, as well as that of all the other scenes of the\ngreat tragedy, boldly ascribed to God. It is God who has summoned His\nTerrors as at other times He had summoned His people to the festivals\nof the sacred city. But if God mustered the whole army of calamities\nit seems right to lay the story of the havoc they have wrought before\nHis face; and the prayer reads almost like an accusation, or at least\nan expostulation, a remonstrance. It is not such, however; for we\nhave seen that elsewhere the elegist makes full confession of the\nguilt of Jerusalem and admits that the doom of the wretched city was\nquite merited. Still if the dire chastisement is from the hand of God\nit is God alone who can bring deliverance. That is the final point to\nbe reached.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n_THE MAN THAT HATH SEEN AFFLICTION_\n\niii. 1-21\n\n\nWhether we regard it from a literary, a speculative, or a religious\npoint of view, the third and central elegy cannot fail to strike us as\nby far the best of the five. The workmanship of this poem is most\nelaborate in conception and most finished in execution, the thought is\nmost fresh and striking, and the spiritual tone most elevated, and, in\nthe best sense of the word, evangelical. Like Tennyson, who is most\npoetic when he is most artistic, as in his lyrics, and like all the\ngreat sonneteers, the author of this exquisite Hebrew melody has not\nfound his ideas to be cramped by the rigorous rules of composition. It\nwould seem that to a master the elaborate regulations that fetter an\ninferior mind are no hindrances, but rather instruments fitted to his\nhand, and all the more serviceable for their exactness. Possibly the\nartistic refinement of form stimulates thought and rouses the poet to\nexert his best powers; or perhaps--and this is more probable--he\nselects the richer robe for the purpose of clothing his choicer\nconceptions. Here we have the acrostics worked up into triplets, so\nthat they now appear at the beginning of every line, each letter\noccurring three times successively as an initial, and the whole poem\nfalling into sixty-six verses or twenty-two triplets. Yet none of the\nother four poems have any approach to the wealth of thought or the\nuplifting inspiration that we meet with in this highly finished\nproduct of literary art.\n\nThis elegy differs from its sister poems in another respect. It is\ncomposed, for the most part, in the first person singular, the writer\neither speaking of his own experience or dramatically personating\nanother sufferer. Who is this \"man that hath seen affliction?\" On the\nunderstanding that Jeremiah is the author of the whole book, it is\ncommonly assumed that the prophet is here revealing his own feelings\nunder the multitude of troubles with which he has been overwhelmed.\nBut if, as we have seen, this hypothesis is, to say the least,\nextremely dubious, of course the assumption that has been based upon\nit loses its warranty. No doubt there is much in the touching picture\nof the afflicted person that agrees with what we know of the\nexperience of the great prophet. And yet, when we look into it, we do\nnot find anything of so specific a character as to settle us in the\nconclusion that the words could have been spoken by no one else. There\nis just the possibility that the poet is not describing himself at\nall; he may be representing somebody well known to his contemporaries--\nperhaps even Jeremiah, or just a typical character, in the manner of\nBrowning's _Dramatis Personae_.\n\nWhile some mystery hangs over the personality of this man of sorrows\nthe power and pathos of the poem are certainly heightened by the\nconcentration of our attention upon one individual. Few persons are\nmoved by general statements. Necessarily the comprehensive is all\noutline. It is by the supply of the particular that we fill up the\ndetails; and it is only when these details are present that we have a\nfull-bodied picture. If an incident is typical it is illustrative of\nits kind. To know one such fact is to know all. Thus the science\nlecturer produces his specimen, and is satisfied to teach from it\nwithout adding a number of duplicates. The study of abstract reports\nis most important to those who are already interested in the subjects\nof these dreary documents; but it is useless as a means of exciting\ninterest. Philanthropy must visit the office of the statistician if it\nwould act with enlightened judgment, and not permit itself to become\nthe victim of blind enthusiasm; but it was not born there, and the\nsympathy which is its parent can only be found among individual\ninstances of distress.\n\nIn the present case the speaker who recounts his own misfortunes is\nmore than a casual witness, more than a mere specimen picked out at\nrandom from the heap of misery accumulated in this age of national\nruin. He is not simply a man who has seen affliction, one among many\nsimilar sufferers; he is the man, the well-known victim, one\npre-eminent in distress even in the midst of a nation full of misery.\nYet he is not isolated on a solitary peak of agony. As the supreme\nsufferer, he is also the representative sufferer. He is not selfishly\nabsorbed in the morbid occupation of brooding over his private\ngrievances. He has gathered into himself the vast and terrible woes of\nhis people. Thus he foreshadows our Lord in His passion. We cannot but\nbe struck with the aptness of much in this third elegy when it is read\nin the light of the last scenes of the gospel history. It would be a\nmistake to say that these outpourings from the heart of the Hebrew\npatriot were intended to convey a prophetic meaning with reference to\nanother Sufferer in a far-distant future. Nevertheless the application\nof the poem to the Man of Sorrows is more than a case of literary\nillustration; for the idea of representative suffering which here\nemerges, and which becomes more definite in the picture of the servant\nof Jehovah in Isa. liii., only finds its full realisation and\nperfection in Jesus Christ. It is repeated, however, with more or less\ndistinctness wherever the Christ spirit is revealed. Thus in a noble\ninterpretation of St. Paul, the Apostle is represented as\nexperiencing--\n\n  \"Desperate tides of the whole world's anguish\n  Forced through the channel of a single heart.\"[161]\n\n  [161] _St. Paul_, by Frederick Myers.\n\nThe portrait of himself drawn by the author of this elegy is the more\ngraphic by reason of the fact that the present is linked to the past.\nThe striking commencement, \"I _am_ the man,\" etc., sets the speaker in\nimagination before our eyes. The addition \"who _has_ seen\" (or rather,\nexperienced) \"affliction\" connects him with his present sufferings.\nThe unfathomable mystery of personal identity here confronts us. This\nis more than memory, more than the lingering scar of a previous\nexperience; it is, in a sense, the continuance of that experience, its\nghostly presence still haunting the soul that once knew it in the glow\nof life. Thus we are what we have thought and felt and done, and our\npresent is the perpetuation of our past. The man who has seen\naffliction does not only keep the history of his distresses in the\nquiet chamber of memory. His own personality has slowly acquired a\ndepth, a fulness, a ripeness that remove him far from the raw and\nsuperficial character he once was. We are silenced into awe before\nJob, Jeremiah, and Dante, because these men grew great by suffering.\nIs it not told even of our Lord Jesus Christ that He was made perfect\nby the things that He suffered?[162] Unhappily it cannot be said that\nevery hero of tragedy climbs to perfection on the rugged steps of his\nterrible life-drama; some men are shattered by discipline which proves\nto be too severe for their strength. Christ rose to His highest glory\nby means of the cruelty of His enemies and the treason of one of His\ntrusted disciples; but cruel wrongs drove Lear to madness, and a\nconfidant's treachery made a murderer of Othello. Still all who pass\nthrough the ordeal come out other than they enter, and the change is\nalways a growth in some direction, even though in many cases we must\nadmit with sorrow that this is a downward direction.\n\n  [162] Heb. v. 8, 9.\n\nIt is to be observed that here in his self-portraiture--just as\nelsewhere when describing the calamities that have befallen his\npeople--the elegist attributes the whole series of disastrous events\nto God. This characteristic of the Book of Lamentations throughout is\nnowhere more apparent than in the third chapter. So close is the\nthought of God to the mind of the writer, he does not even think it\nnecessary to mention the Divine name. He introduces his pronouns\nwithout any explanation of their objects, saying \"_His_ wrath\" and\n\"_He_ hath led me,\" and so on through the succeeding verses. This\nquiet assumption of a recognised reference of all that happens to one\nsource, a source that is taken to be so well known that there is no\noccasion to name it, speaks volumes for the deep-seated faith of the\nwriter. He is at the antipodes of the too common position of those\npeople who habitually forget to mention the name of God because He is\nnever in their thoughts. God is always in the thoughts of the elegist,\nand that is why He is not named. Like Brother Lawrence, this man has\nlearnt to \"practise the presence of God.\"\n\nIn amplifying the account of his sufferings, after giving a general\ndescription of himself as the man who has experienced affliction, and\nadding a line in which this experience is connected with its\ncause--the rod of the wrath of Him who is unnamed, though ever in\nmind--the stricken patriot proceeds to illustrate and enforce his\nappeal to sympathy by means of a series of vivid metaphors. This is\nthe most crisp and pointed writing in the book. It hurries us on with\na breathless rush of imagery, scene after scene flashing out in\nbewildering speed like the whirl of objects we look at from the\nwindows of an express train.\n\nLet us first glance at the successive pictures in this rapidly moving\npanorama of similes, and then at the general import and unit of the\nwhole.\n\nThe afflicted man was under the Divine guidance; he was not the victim\nof blind self-will; it was not when straying from the path of right\nthat he fell into this pit of misery. The strange thing is that God\nled him straight into it--led him into darkness, not into light as\nmight have been expected with such a Guide.[163] The first image,\nthen, is that of a traveller misled. The perception of the terrible\ntruth that is here suggested prompts the writer at once to draw an\ninference as to the relation in which God stands to him, and the\nnature and character of the Divine treatment of him throughout. God,\nwhom he has trusted implicitly, whom he has followed in the simplicity\nof ignorance, God proves to be his Opponent! He feels like one duped\nin the past, and at length undeceived as he makes the amazing\ndiscovery that his trusted Guide has been turning His hand against him\nrepeatedly all the day of his woful wanderings.[164] For the moment he\ndrops his metaphors, and reflects on the dreadful consequences of this\nfatal antagonism. His flesh and skin, his very body is wasted away; he\nis so crushed and shattered, it is as though God had broken his\nbones.[165] Now he can see that God has not only acted as an enemy in\nguiding him into the darkness; God's dealings have shewn more overt\nantagonism. The helpless sufferer is like a besieged city, and God,\nwho is conducting the assault, has thrown up a wall round him. With\nthat daring mixture of metaphors, or, to be more precise, with that\nfreedom of sudden transition from the symbol to the subject symbolised\nwhich we often meet with in this Book, the poet calls the rampart with\nwhich he has been girdled \"gall and travail,\"[166] for he has felt\nhimself beset with bitter grief and weary toil.[167]\n\n  [163] iii. 2.\n\n  [164] iii. 3.\n\n  [165] iii. 4.\n\n  [166] The Authorised Version has \"travel,\" a mere variation in\n  spelling. The word means painful labour, toil.\n\n  [167] iii. 4.\n\nThen the scene changes. The victim of Divine wrath is a captive\nlanguishing in a dungeon, which is as dark as the abodes of the dead,\nas the dwellings of those who have been _long_ dead.[168] The horror\nof this metaphor is intensified by the idea of the antiquity of Hades.\nHow dismal is the thought of being plunged into a darkness that is\nalready aged--a stagnant darkness, the atmosphere of those who long\nsince lost the last rays of the light of his life! There the prisoner\nis bound by a heavy chain.[169] He cries for help; but he is shut down\nso low that his prayer cannot reach his Captor.[170]\n\n  [168] iii. 6.\n\n  [169] iii. 7.\n\n  [170] iii. 8.\n\nAgain we see him still hampered, though in altered circumstances. He\nappears as a traveller whose way is blocked, and that not by some\naccidental fall of rock, but of set purpose, for he finds the\nobstruction to be of carefully prepared masonry, \"hewn stones.\"[171]\nTherefore he has to turn aside, so that his paths become crooked. Yet\nmore terrible does the Divine enmity grow. When the pilgrim is thus\nforced to leave the highroad and make his way through the adjoining\nthickets his Adversary avails Himself of the cover to assume a new\nform, that of a lion or a bear lying in ambush.[172] The consequence\nis that the hapless man is torn as by the claws and fangs of beasts of\nprey.[173] But now these wild regions in which the wretched traveller\nis wandering at the peril of his life suggest the idea of the chase.\nThe image of the savage animals is defective in this respect, that man\nis their superior in intelligence, though not in strength. But in the\npresent case the victim is in every way inferior to his Pursuer. So\nGod appears as the Huntsman, and the unhappy sufferer as the poor\nhunted game. The bow is bent, and the arrow directed straight for its\nmark.[174] Nay, arrow after arrow has already been let fly, and the\ndreadful Huntsman, too skilful ever to miss His mark, has been\nshooting \"the sons of His quiver\" into the very vitals of the object\nof His pursuit.[175]\n\n  [171] iii. 9.\n\n  [172] iii. 10.\n\n  [173] iii. 11.\n\n  [174] iii. 12.\n\n  [175] iii. 13.\n\nHere the poet breaks away from his imagery for a second time to tell\nus that he has become an object of derision to all his people, and the\ntheme of their mocking songs.[176] This is a striking statement. It\nshews that the afflicted man is not simply one member of the smitten\nnation of Israel, sharing the common hardships of the race whose\n\"badge is servitude.\" He not merely experiences exceptional\nsufferings. He meets with no sympathy from his fellow-countrymen. On\nthe contrary, these people so far dissociate themselves from his case\nthat they can find amusement in his misery. Thus, while even a\nmisguided Don Quixote is a noble character in the rare chivalry of his\nsoul, and while his very delusions are profoundly pathetic, many\npeople can only find material for laughter in them, and pride\nthemselves in their superior sanity for so doing, although the truth\nis, their conduct proves them to be incapable of understanding the\nlofty ideals that inspire the object of their empty derision; thus\nJeremiah was mocked by his unthinking contemporaries, when, whether in\nerror, as they supposed, or wisely, as the event shewed, he preached\nan apparently absurd policy; and thus a greater than Jeremiah, One as\nsupreme in reasonableness as in goodness, was jeered at by men who\nthought Him at best a Utopian dreamer, because they were grovelling in\nearthly thoughts far out of reach of the spiritual world in which He\nmoved.\n\n  [176] iii. 14.\n\nReturning to imagery, the poet pictures himself as a hardly used guest\nat a feast. He is fed, crammed, sated; but his food is bitterness, the\ncup has been forced to his lips, and he has been made drunk--not with\npleasant wine, however, but with wormwood.[177] Gravel has been mixed\nwith his bread, or perhaps the thought is that when he has asked for\nbread stones have been given him. He has been compelled to masticate\nthis unnatural diet, so that his teeth have been broken by it. Even that\nresult he ascribes to God, saying, \"He hath broken my teeth.\"[178] It is\ndifficult to think of the interference with personal liberty being\ncarried farther than this. Here we reach the extremity of crushed misery.\n\n  [177] iii. 15.\n\n  [178] iii. 16.\n\nReviewing the whole course of his wretched sufferings from the climax\nof misery, the man who has seen all this affliction declares that God\nhas cast him on from peace.[179] The Christian sufferer knows what a\nprofound consolation there is in the possession of the peace of God,\neven when he is passing through the most acute agonies--a peace which\ncan be maintained both amid the wildest tempests of external adversity\nand in the presence of the fiercest paroxysms of personal anguish. Is\nit not the acknowledged secret of the martyrs' serenity? Happily many\nan obscure sufferer has discovered it for himself, and found it better\nthan any balm of Gilead. This most precious gift of heaven to\nsuffering souls is denied to the man who here bewails his dismal fate.\nSo too it was denied to Jesus in the garden, and again on the cross.\nIt is possible that the dark day will come when it will be denied to\none or another of His people. Then the experience of the moment will\nbe terrible indeed. But it will be brief. An angel ministered to the\nSufferer in Gethsemane. The joy of the resurrection followed swiftly\non the agonies of Calvary. In the elegy we are now studying a burst of\npraise and glad confidence breaks out almost immediately after the\nlowest depths of misery have been sounded, shewing that, as Keats\ndeclares in an exquisite line--\n\n  \"There is a budding morrow in midnight.\"\n\n  [179] iii. 17.\n\nIt is not surprising, however, that, for the time being, the exceeding\nblackness of the night keeps the hope of a new day quite out of sight.\nThe elegist exclaims that he has lost the very idea of prosperity. Not\nonly has his strength perished, his hope in God has perished\nalso.[180] Happily God is far too good a Father to deal with His\nchildren according to the measure of their despair. He is found by\nthose who are too despondent to seek Him, because He is always seeking\nHis lost children, and not waiting for them to make the first move\ntowards Him.\n\n  [180] iii. 18.\n\nWhen we come to look at the series of pictures of affliction as a\nwhole we shall notice that one general idea runs through them. This is\nthat the victim is hindered, hampered, restrained. He is led into\ndarkness, besieged, imprisoned, chained, driven out of his way, seized\nin ambuscade, hunted, even forced to eat unwelcome food. This must all\npoint to a specific character of personal experience. The troubles of\nthe sufferer have mainly assumed the form of a thwarting of his\nefforts. He has not been an indolent, weak, cowardly creature,\nsuccumbing at the first sign of opposition. To an active man with a\nstrong will resistance is one of the greatest of troubles, although it\nwill be accepted meekly, as a matter of course, by a person of servile\nhabits. If the opposition comes from God, may it not be that the\nseverity of the trouble is just caused by the obstinacy of self-will?\nCertainly it does not appear to be so here; but then we must remember\nthe writer is stating his own case.\n\nTwo other characteristics of the whole passage may be mentioned. One\nis the _persistence_ of the Divine antagonism. This is what makes the\ncase look so hard. The pursuer seems to be ruthless; He will not let\nhis victim alone for a moment. One device follows sharply on another.\nThere is no escape. The second of these characteristics of the passage\nis a gradual _aggravation_ in the severity of the trials. At first God\nis only represented as a guide who misleads; then He appears as a\nbesieging enemy; later like a destroyer. And correspondingly the\ntroubles of the sufferer grow in severity, till at last he is flung\ninto the ashes, crushed and helpless.\n\nAll this is peculiarly painful reading to us with our Christian\nthoughts of God. It seems so utterly contrary to the character of our\nFather revealed in Jesus Christ. But then it is not a part of the\nChristian revelation, nor was it uttered by a man who had received the\nbenefits of that highest teaching. That, however, is not a complete\nexplanation. The dreadful thoughts about God that are here recorded\nare almost without parallel even in the Old Testament. How contrary\nthey are to such an idea as that of the pitiful Father in Psalm ciii.!\nOn the other hand, it should be remembered that if ever we have to\nmake allowance for the personal equation we must be ready to do so\nmost liberally when we are listening to the tale of his wrongs as this\nis recounted by the sufferer himself. The narrator may be perfectly\nhonest and truthful, but it is not in human nature to be impartial\nunder such circumstances. Even when, as in the present instance, we\nhave reason to believe that the speaker is under the influence of a\nDivine inspiration, we have no right to conclude that this gift would\nenable him to take an all-round vision of truth. Still, can we deny\nthat the elegist has presented to our minds but one facet of truth? If\nwe do not accept it as intended for a complete picture of God, and if\nwe confine it to an account of the Divine action under certain\ncircumstances as this appears to one who is most painfully affected by\nit, without any assertion concerning the ultimate motives of God--and\nthis is all we have any justification for doing--it may teach us\nimportant lessons which we are too ready to ignore in favour of less\nunpleasant notions. Finally it would be quite unfair to the elegist,\nand it would give us a totally false impression of his ideas, if we\nwere to go no further than this. To understand him at all we must hear\nhim out. The contrast between the first part of this poem and the\nsecond is startling in the extreme, and we must not forget that the\ntwo are set in the closest juxtaposition, for it is plain that the one\nis intended to balance the other. The harshness of the opening words\ncould be permitted with the more daring, because a perfect corrective\nto any unsatisfactory inferences that might be drawn from it was about\nto be immediately supplied.\n\nThe triplet of verses 19 to 21 serves as a transition to the picture\nof the other side of the Divine action. It begins with prayer. Thus a\nnew note is struck. The sufferer knows that God is not at heart his\nenemy. So he ventures to beseech the very Being concerning whose\ntreatment of him he has been complaining so bitterly, to remember his\naffliction and the misery it has brought on him, the wormwood, the\ngall of his hard lot. Hope now dawns on him out of his own\nrecollections. What are these? The Authorised Version would lead us to\nthink that when he uses the expression, \"This I recall to my\nmind,\"[181] the poet is referring to the encouraging ideas of the\nverses that immediately follow in the next section. But it is not\nprobable that the last line of a triplet would thus point forward to\nanother part of the poem. It is more consonant with the method of the\ncomposition to take this phrase in connection with what precedes it in\nthe same triplet, and a perfectly permissible change in the\ntranslation of the 20th verse gives good sense in that connection. We\nmay read this:\n\n  \"Thou (O God) wilt surely remember, for my soul is bowed down within me.\"\n\nThus the recollection that God too has a memory and that He will\nremember His suffering servant becomes the spring of a new hope.\n\n  [181] iii. 21.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\n_THE UNFAILING GOODNESS OF GOD_\n\niii. 22-4\n\n\nAlthough the elegist has prepared us for brighter scenes by the more\nhopeful tone of an intermediate triplet, the transition from the gloom\nand bitterness of the first part of the poem to the glowing rapture of\nthe second is among the most startling effects in literature. It is\nscarcely possible to conceive of darker views of Providence, short of\na Manichaean repudiation of the God of the physical universe as an evil\nbeing, than those which are boldly set forth in the opening verses of\nthe elegy; we shudder at the awful words, and shrink from repeating\nthem, so near to the verge of blasphemy do they seem to come. And now\nthose appalling utterances are followed by the very choicest\nexpression of confidence in the boundless goodness of God! The writer\nseems to leap in a moment out of the deepest, darkest pit of misery\ninto the radiance of more than summer sunlight. How can we account for\nthis extraordinary change of thought and temper?\n\nIt is not enough to ascribe the sharpness of the contrast either to\nthe clumsiness of the author in giving utterance to his teeming\nfancies just as they occur to him, without any consideration for their\nbearings one upon another; or to his art in designedly preparing an\nawakening shock. We have still to answer the question, How could a man\nentertain two such conflicting currents of thought in closest\njuxtaposition?\n\nIn their very form and structure these touching elegies reflect the\nmental calibre of their author. A wooden soul could never have\ninvented their movements. They reveal a most sensitive spirit, a\nspirit that resembles a finely strung instrument of music, quivering\nin response to impulses from all directions. People of a mercurial\ntemperament live in a state of perpetual oscillation between the most\ncontrary moods, and the violence of their despair is always ready to\ngive place to the enthusiasm of a new hope. We call them inconsistent;\nbut their inconsistency may spring from a quick-witted capacity to see\ntwo sides of a question in the time occupied by slower minds with the\ncontemplation of one. As a matter of fact, however, the revulsion in\nthe mind of the poet may not have been so sudden as it appears in his\nwork. We can scarcely suppose that so elaborate a composition as this\nelegy was written from beginning to end at a single sitting. Indeed,\nhere we seem to have the mark of a break. The author composes the\nfirst part in an exceptionally gloomy mood, and leaves the poem\nunfinished, perhaps for some time. When he returns to it on a\nsubsequent occasion he is in a totally different frame of mind, and\nthis is reflected in the next stage of his work. Still the point of\nimportance is the possibility of the very diverse views here recorded.\n\nNor is this wholly a matter of temperament. Is it not more or less the\ncase with all of us, that since absorption with one class of ideas\nentirely excludes their opposites, when the latter are allowed to\nenter the mind they will rush in with the force of a pent-up flood?\nThen we are astonished that we could ever have forgotten them. We\nbuild our theories in disregard of whole regions of thought. When\nthese occur to us it is with the shock of a sudden discovery, and in\nthe flash of the new light we begin at once to take very different\nviews of our universe. Possibly we have been oblivious of our own\ncharacter, until suddenly we are awakened to our true state, to be\noverwhelmed with shame at an unexpected revelation of sordid meanness,\nof despicable selfishness. Or perhaps the vision is of the heart of\nanother person, whose quiet, unassuming goodness we have not\nappreciated, because it has been so unvarying and dependable that we\nhave taken it as a matter of course, like the daily sunrise, never\nperceiving that this very constancy is the highest merit. We have been\nmore grateful for the occasional lapses into kindness with which\nhabitually churlish people have surprised us. Then there has come the\nrevelation, in which we have been made to see that a saint has been\nwalking by our side all the day. Many of us are very slow in reaching\na similar discovery concerning God. But when we begin to take a right\nview of His relations to us we are amazed to think that we had not\nperceived them before, so rich and full and abounding are the proofs\nof His exceeding goodness.\n\nStill it may seem to us a strange thing that this most perfect\nexpression of a joyous assurance of the mercy and compassion of God\nshould be found in the Book of Lamentations of all places. It may well\ngive heart to those who have not sounded the depths of sorrow, as the\nauthor of these sad poems had done, to learn that even he had been\nable to recognise the merciful kindness of God in the largest possible\nmeasure. A little reflection, however, should teach us that it is not\nso unnatural a thing for this gem of grateful appreciation to appear\nwhere it is. We do not find, as a rule, that the most prosperous\npeople are the foremost to recognise the love of God. The reverse is\nvery frequently the case. If prosperity is not always accompanied by\ncallous ingratitude--and of course it would be grossly unjust to\nassert anything so harsh--at all events it is certain that adversity\nis far from blinding our eyes to the brighter side of the revelation\nof God. Sometimes it is the very means by which they are opened. In\ntrouble the blessings of the past are best valued, and in trouble the\nneed of God's compassion is most acutely felt. But this is not all.\nThe softening influence of sorrow seems to have a more direct effect\nupon our sense of Divine goodness. Perhaps, too, it is some\ncompensation for melancholy, that persons who are afflicted with it\nare most responsive to sympathy. The morbid, despondent poet Cowper\nhas written most exquisitely about the love of God. Watts is\nenthusiastic in his praise of the Divine grace; but a deeper note is\nsounded in the Olney hymns, as, for example, in that beginning with\nthe line--\n\n  \"Hark, my soul, it is the Lord.\"\n\nWhile reading this hymn to-day we cannot fail to feel the peculiar\nthrill of personal emotion that still quivers through its living\nwords, revealing the very soul of their author. This is more than\njoyous praise; it is the expression of a personal experience of the\ncompassion of God in times of deepest need. The same sensitive poet\nhas given us a description of the very condition that is illustrated\nby the passage in the Hebrew elegist we are now considering, in lines\nwhich, familiar as they are, acquire a fresh meaning when read in\nthis association--the lines--\n\n  \"Sometimes a light surprises\n    The Christian while he sings:\n  It is the Lord who rises\n    With healing in His wings.\n  When comforts are declining,\n    He grants the soul, again,\n  A season of clear shining,\n    To cheer it after rain.\"\n\nWe may thank the Calvinistic poet for here touching on another side of\nthe subject. He reminds us that it is God who brings about the\nunexpected joy of renewed trust in His unfailing mercy. The sorrowful\nsoul is, consciously or unconsciously, visited by the Holy Spirit, and\nthe effect of contact with the Divine is that scales fall from the\neyes of the surprised sufferer. If it is right to say that one portion\nof Scripture is more inspired than another we must feel that there is\nmore Divine light in the second part of this elegy than in the first.\nIt is this surprising light from Heaven that ultimately accounts for\nthe sudden revolution in the feelings of the poet.\n\nIn his new consciousness of the love of God the elegist is first\nstruck by its amazing persistence. Probably we should follow the\nTargum and the Syriac version in rendering the twenty-second verse\nthus--\n\n  \"The Lord's mercies, verily they cease not,\" etc.,\n\ninstead of the usual English rendering--\n\n  \"It is of the Lord's mercies that we are not consumed,\" etc.\n\nThere are two reasons for this emendation. _First_, the momentary\ntransition to the plural \"we\" is harsh and improbable. It is true the\nauthor makes a somewhat similar change a little later;[182] but there\nit is in an extended passage, and one in which he evidently wishes to\nrepresent his people with ideas that are manifestly appropriate to the\ncommunity at large. Here, on the other hand, the sentence breaks into\nthe midst of personal reflections. _Second_--and this is the principal\nconsideration--the balance of the phrases, which is so carefully\nobserved throughout this elegy, is upset by the common rendering, but\nrestored by the emendation. The topic of the triplet in which the\ndisputed passage occurs is the amazing persistence of God's goodness\nto His suffering children. The proposed alteration is in harmony with\nthis.\n\n  [182] iii. 40-8.\n\nThe thought here presented to us rests on the truth of the eternity\nand essential changelessness of God. We cannot think of Him as either\nfickle or failing; to do so would be to cease to think of Him as God.\nIf He is merciful at all He cannot be merciful only spasmodically,\nerratically, or temporarily. For all that, we need not regard these\nheart-stirring utterances as the expressions of a self-evident truism.\nThe wonder and glory of the idea they dilate upon are not the less for\nthe fact that we should entertain no doubt of its truth. The certainty\nthat the character of God is good and great does not detract from His\ngoodness or His greatness. When we are assured that His nature is not\nfallible our contemplation of it does not cease to be an act of\nadoration. On the contrary, we can worship the immutable perfection of\nGod with fuller praises than we should give to fitful gleams of less\nabiding qualities.\n\nAs a matter of fact, however, our religious experience is never the\nsimple conclusion of bare logic. Our feelings, and not these only, but\nalso our faith, need repeated assurances of the continuance of God's\ngoodness, because it seems as though there were so much to absorb and\nquench it. Therefore the perception of the fact of its continuance\ntakes the form of a glad wonder that God's mercies do not cease. Thus\nit is amazing to us that these mercies are not consumed by the\nmultitude of the sufferers who are dependent upon them--the extent of\nGod's family not in any way cramping His means to give the richest\ninheritance to each of his children; nor by the depth of individual\nneed--no single soul having wants so extreme or so peculiar that his\naid cannot avail entirely for them; nor by the shocking ill-desert of\nthe most unworthy of mankind--even sin, while it necessarily excludes\nthe guilty from any present enjoyment of the love of God, not really\nquenching that love or precluding a future participation in it on\ncondition of repentance; nor by the wearing of time, beneath which\neven granite rocks crumble to powder.\n\nThe elegist declares that the reason why God's mercies are not\nconsumed is that his compassions do not fail. Thus he goes behind the\nkind actions of God to their originating motives. To a man in the\ncondition of the writer of this poem of personal confidences the\nDivine sympathy is the one fact in the universe of supreme importance.\nSo will it be to every sufferer who can assure himself of the truth of\nit. But is this only a consolation for the sorrowing? The pathos, the\nvery tragedy of human life on earth, should make the sympathy of God\nthe most precious fact of existence to all mankind. Portia rightly\nreminds Shylock that \"we all do look for mercy\"; but if so, the\nspring of mercy, the Divine compassion, must be the one source of\ntrue hope for every soul of man. Whether we are to attribute it to sin\nalone, or whether there may be other dark, mysterious ingredients in\nhuman sorrow, there can be no doubt that the deepest need is that God\nshould have pity on His children. The worship of heaven among the\nangels may be one pure song of joy; but here, even though we are\nprivileged to share the gladness of the celestial praises, a plaintive\nnote will mingle with our anthem of adoration, because a pleading cry\nmust ever go up from burdened spirits; and when relief is acknowledged\nour thanksgiving must single out the compassion of God for deepest\ngratitude. It is much, then, to know that God not only helps the\nneedy--that is to say, all mankind--but that He feels with His\nsuffering children. The author of the Epistle to the Hebrews has\ntaught us to see this reassuring truth most clearly in the revelation\nof God in His Son, repeatedly dwelling on the sufferings of Christ as\nthe means by which He was brought into sympathetic, helpful relations\nto the sufferings of mankind.[183]\n\n  [183] Heb. ii. 18, iv. 15.\n\nFurther, the elegist declares that the special form taken by these\nunceasing mercies of God is daily renewal. The love of God is\nconstant--one changeless Divine attribute; but the manifestations of\nthat love are necessarily successive and various according to the\nsuccessive and various needs of His children. We have not only to\npraise God for His eternal, immutable goodness, vast and wonderful as\nthat is; to our perceptions, at all events, his immediate, present\nactions are even more significant because they shew His personal\ninterest in individual men and women, and His living activity at the\nvery crisis of need. There is a certain aloofness, a certain\nchillness, in the thought of ancient kindness, even though the effects\nof it may reach to our own day in full and abundant streams. But the\nliving God is an active God, who works in the present as effectually\nas He worked in the past. There is another side to this truth. It is\nnot sufficient to have received the grace of God once for all. If \"He\ngiveth more grace,\" it is because we need more grace. This is a stream\nthat must be ever flowing into the soul, not the storage of a tank\nfilled once for all and left to serve for a lifetime. Therefore the\nchannel must be kept constantly clear, or the grace will fail to reach\nus, although in itself it never runs dry.\n\nThere is something cheering in the poet's idea of the morning as the\ntime when these mercies of God are renewed. It has been suggested that\nhe is thinking of renewals of brightness after dark seasons of sorrow,\nsuch as are suggested by the words of the psalmist--\n\n  \"Weeping may come in to lodge at even,\n  But joy cometh in the morning.\"[184]\n\n  [184] Heb. ii. 18, iv. 15.\n\nThis idea, however, would weaken the force of the passage, which goes\nto shew that God's mercies do not fail, are not interrupted. The\nemphasis is on the thought that no day is without God's new mercies,\nnot even the day of darkest trouble; and further, there is the\nsuggestion that God is never dilatory in coming to our aid. He does\nnot keep us waiting and wearying while He tarries. He is prompt and\nearly with His grace. The idea may be compared with that of the\npromise to those who seek God early, literally, _in the morning_.[185]\nOr we may think of the night as the time of repose, when we are\noblivious of God's goodness, although even through the hours of\ndarkness He who neither slumbers nor sleeps is constantly watching\nover His unconscious children. Then in the morning there dawns on us a\nfresh perception of His goodness. If we are to realise the blessing\nsought in Sir Thomas Browne's prayer, and\n\n  \"Awake into some holy thought,\"\n\nno more holy thought can be desired than a grateful recognition of the\nnew mercies on which our eyes open with the new day. A morning so\ngraciously welcomed is the herald of a day of strength and happy\nconfidence.\n\n  [185] Prov. viii. 17.\n\nTo the notion of the morning renewal of the mercies of God the poet\nappends a recognition of His great faithfulness. This is an additional\nthought. Faithfulness is more than compassion. There is a strength and\na stability about the idea that goes further to insure confidence. It\nis more than the fact that God is true to His word, that He will\ncertainly perform what He has definitely promised. Fidelity is not\nconfined to compacts--it is not limited to the question of what is \"in\nthe bond\"; it concerns persons rather than phrases. To be faithful to\na friend is more than to keep one's word to him. We may have given him\nno pledge; and yet we must confess to an obligation to be true--to be\ntrue to the man himself. Now while we are called upon to be loyal to\nGod, there is a sense in which we may venture without irreverence to\nsay that He may be expected to be faithful to us. He is our Creator,\nand He has placed us in this world by His own will; His relations with\nus cannot cease at this point. So Moses pleaded that God, having led\nHis people into the wilderness, could not desert them there; and\nJeremiah even ventured on the daring prayer--\n\n  \"Do not disgrace the throne of Thy glory.\"[186]\n\n  [186] Jer. xiv. 21.\n\nIt is because we are sure the just and true God could never do\nanything so base that His faithfulness becomes the ground of perfect\nconfidence. It may be said, on the other hand, that we cannot claim\nany good thing from God on the score of merit, because we only deserve\nwrath and punishment. But this is not a question of merit. Fidelity to\na friend is not exhausted when we have treated him according to his\ndeserts. It extends to a treatment of him in accordance with the\ndirect claims of friendship, claims which are to be measured by need\nrather than by merit.\n\nThe conclusion drawn from these considerations is given in an echo\nfrom the Psalms--\n\n  \"The Lord is my portion.\"[187]\n\n  [187] Psalm lxxiii. 26.\n\nThe words are old and well-worn; but they obtain a new meaning when\nadopted as the expression of a new experience. The lips have often\nchanted them in the worship of the sanctuary. Now they are the voice\nof the soul, of the very life. There is no plagiarism in such a\nquotation as this, although in making it the poet does not turn aside\nto acknowledge his obligation to the earlier author who coined the\nimmortal phrase. The seizure of the old words by the soul of the new\nwriter make them his own in the deepest sense, because under these\ncircumstances it is not their literary form, but their spiritual\nsignificance, that gives them their value. This is true of the most\nfrequently quoted words of Scripture. They are new words to every soul\nthat adopts them as the expression of a new experience.\n\nIt is to be observed that the experience now reached is something over\nand above the conscious reception of daily mercies. The Giver is\ngreater than His gifts. God is first known by means of His actions,\nand then being thus known He is recognised as Himself the portion of\nHis people, so that to possess Him is their one satisfying joy in the\npresent and their one inspiring hope for the future.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\n_QUIET WAITING_\n\niii. 25-36\n\n\nHaving struck a rich vein, our author proceeds to work it with energy.\nPursuing the ideas that flow out of the great truth of the endless\ngoodness of God, and the immediate inference that He of whom so\nwonderful a character can be affirmed is Himself the soul's best\npossession, the poet enlarges upon their wider relations. He must\nadjust his views of the whole world to the new situation that is thus\nopening out before him. All things are new in the light of the\nsplendid vision before which his gloomy meditations have vanished like\na dream. He sees that he is not alone in enjoying the supreme\nblessedness of the Divine love. The revelation that has come to him is\napplicable to other men if they will but fulfil the conditions to\nwhich it is attached.\n\nIn the first place, it is necessary to perceive clearly what those\nconditions are on which the happy experience of God's unfailing\nmercies may be enjoyed by any man. The primary requisite is\naffirmed to be _quiet waiting_.[188] The passivity of this attitude\nis accentuated in a variety of expressions. It is difficult for\nus of the modern western world to appreciate such teaching.\nNo doubt if it stood by itself it would be so one-sided as to be\npositively misleading. But this is no more than must be said of any of\nthe best lessons of life. We require the balancing of separate truths\nin order to obtain truth, as we want the concurrence of different\nimpulses to produce the resultant of a right direction of life. But in\nthe present case the opposite end of the scale has been so much\noverweighted that we sorely need a very considerable addition on the\nside to which the elegist here leans. Carlyle's gospel of work--a most\nwholesome message as far as it went--fell on congenial Anglo-Saxon\nsoil; and this and the like teaching of kindred minds has brought\nforth a rich harvest in the social activity of modern English life.\nThe Church has learnt the duty of working--which is well. She does not\nappear so capable of attaining the blessedness of waiting. Our age is\nin no danger of the dreaminess of quietism. But we find it hard to\ncultivate what Wordsworth calls \"wise passiveness.\" And yet in the\nheart of us we feel the lack of this spirit of quiet. Charles Lamb's\nessay on the \"Quakers' Meeting\" charms us, not only on account of its\nexquisite literary style, but also because it reflects a phase of life\nwhich we own to be most beautiful.\n\n  [188] iii. 26.\n\nThe waiting here recommended is more than simple passiveness, however,\nmore than a bare negation of action. It is the very opposite of\nlethargy and torpor. Although it is quiet, it is not asleep. It is\nopen-eyed, watchful, expectant. It has a definite object of\nanticipation, for it is a waiting for God and His salvation; and\ntherefore it is hopeful. Nay, it has a certain activity of its own,\nfor it seeks God. Still, this activity is inward and quiet; its\nimmediate aim is not to get at some visible earthly end, however much\nthis may be desired, nor to attain some inward personal experience,\nsome stage in the soul's culture, such as peace, or purity, or power,\nalthough this may be the ultimate object of the present anxiety;\nprimarily it seeks God--all else it leaves in His hands. Thus it is\nrather a change in the tone and direction of the soul's energies than\na state of repose. It is the attitude of the watchman on his lonely\ntower--calm and still, but keen-eyed and alert, while down below in\nthe crowded city some fret themselves with futile toil and others\nslumber in stupid indifference.\n\nTo this waiting for Him and definite seeking of Him God responds in\nsome special manifestation of mercy. Although, as Jesus Christ tells\nus, our Father in heaven \"maketh His sun to rise on the evil and the\ngood, and sendeth rain on the just and the unjust,\"[189] the fact here\ndistinctly implied, that the goodness of God is exceptionally enjoyed\non the conditions now laid down, is also supported by our Lord's\nteaching in the exhortations, \"Ask, and it shall be given you; seek,\nand ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened to you; for every one\nthat asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that\nknocketh it shall be opened.\"[190] St. James adds, \"Ye have not\nbecause ye ask not.\"[191] This, then, is the method of the Divine\nprocedure. God expects His children to wait on Him as well as to wait\nfor Him. We cannot consider such an expectation unreasonable. Of\ncourse it would be foolish to imagine God piquing Himself on His own\ndignity, so as to decline aid until He had been gratified by a due\nobservance of homage. There is a deeper motive for the requirement.\nGod's relations with men and women are personal and individual; and\nwhen they are most happy and helpful they always involve a certain\nreciprocity. It may not be necessary or even wise to demand definite\nthings from God whenever we seek His assistance; for He knows what is\ngood, while we often blunder and ask amiss. But the seeking here\ndescribed is of a different character. It is not seeking things; it is\nseeking God. This is always good. The attitude of trust and expectancy\nthat it necessitates is just that in which we are brought into a\nreceptive state. It is not a question of God's willingness to help; He\nis always willing. But it cannot be fitting that He should act towards\nus when we are distrustful, indifferent, or rebellious, exactly as He\nwould act if He were approached in submission and trustful\nexpectation.\n\n  [189] Matt. v. 45.\n\n  [190] vii. 7, 8.\n\n  [191] James iv. 2.\n\nQuiet waiting, then, is the right and fitting condition for the\nreception of blessing from God. But the elegist holds more than this.\nIn his estimation the state of mind he here commends is itself good\nfor a man. It is certainly good in contrast with the unhappy\nalternatives--feeble fussiness, wearing anxiety, indolent negligence,\nor blank despair. It is good also as a positive condition of mind. He\nhas reached a happy inward attainment who has cultivated the faculty\nof possessing his soul in patience. His eye is clear for visions of\nthe unseen. To him the deep fountains of life are open. Truth is his,\nand peace and strength also. When we add to this calmness the distinct\naim of seeking God we may see how the blessedness of the condition\nrecommended is vastly enhanced. We are all insensibly moulded by our\ndesires and aims. The expectant soul is transformed into the image of\nthe hope it pursues. When its treasure is in heaven its heart is\nthere also, and therefore its very nature becomes heavenly.\n\nTo his reflections on the blessedness of quiet waiting the elegist\nadds a very definite word about another experience, declaring that \"it\nis good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth.\"[192] This\ninteresting assertion seems to sound an autobiographical note,\nespecially as the whole poem treats of the writer's personal\nexperience. Some have inferred that the author must have been a young\nman at the time of writing. But if, as seems probable, he is calling\nto mind what he has himself passed through, this may be a recollection\nof a much earlier period of his life. Thus he would seem to be\nrecognising, in the calm of subsequent reflection, what perhaps he may\nhave been far from admitting while bearing the burdens, that the\nlabours and hardships of his youth prove to have been for his own\nadvantage. This truth is often perceived in the meditations of mature\nlife, although it is not so easily acknowledged in the hours of strain\nand stress.\n\n  [192] iii. 27.\n\nIt is impossible to say what particular yoke the writer is thinking\nabout. The persecutions inflicted on Jeremiah have been cited in\nillustration of this passage; and although we may not be able to\nascribe the poem to the great prophet, his toils and troubles will\nserve as instances of the truth of the words of the anonymous writer,\nfor undoubtedly his sympathies were quickened while his strength was\nripened by what he endured. If we will have a definite meaning the\nyoke may stand for one of three things--for instruction, for labour,\nor for trouble. The sentence is true of either of these forms of yoke.\nWe are not likely to dispute the advantages of youthful education\nover that which is delayed till adult age; but even if the acquisition\nof knowledge is here suggested, we cannot suppose it to be book\nknowledge, it must be that got in the school of life. Thus we are\nbrought to the other two meanings. Then the connection excludes the\nnotion of pleasant, attractive work, so that the yoke of labour comes\nnear to the burden of trouble. This seems to be the essential idea of\nthe verse. Irksome work, painful toil, forced labour partaking of the\nnature of servitude--these ideas are most vividly suggested by the\nimage of a yoke. And they are what we most shrink from in youth.\nInactivity is then by no means sought or desired. The very exercise of\none's energies is a delight at the time of their fresh vigour. But\nthis exercise must be in congenial directions, in harmony with one's\ntastes and inclinations, or it will be regarded as an intolerable\nburden. Liberty is sweet in youth; it is not work that is dreaded, but\ncompulsion. Youth emulates the bounding energies of the war horse, but\nit has a great aversion to the patient toil of the ox. Hence the yoke\nis resented as a grievous burden; for the yoke signifies compulsion\nand servitude. Now, as a matter of fact, this yoke generally has to be\nborne in youth. People might be more patient with the young if they\nwould but consider how vexatious it must be to the shoulders that are\nnot yet fitted to wear it, and in the most liberty-loving age. As time\npasses custom makes the yoke easier to be borne; and yet then it is\nusually lightened. In our earlier days we must submit and obey, must\nyield and serve. This is the rule in business, the drudgery and\nrestraint of which naturally attach themselves to the first stages. If\nolder persons reflected on what this must mean at the very time when\nthe appetite for delight is most keen, and the love of freedom most\nintense, they would not press the yoke with needless harshness.\n\nBut now the poet has been brought to see that it was for his own\nadvantage that he was made to bear the yoke in his youth. How so?\nSurely not because it prevented him from taking too rosy views of\nlife, and so saved him from subsequent disappointment. Nothing is more\nfatal to youth than cynicism. The young man who professes to have\ndiscovered the hollowness of life generally is in danger of making his\nown life a hollow and wasted thing. The elegist could never have\nfallen to this miserable condition, or he would not have written as he\nhas done here. With faith and manly courage the yoke has the very\nopposite effect. The faculty of cherishing hope in spite of present\nhardships, which is the peculiar privilege of youth, may stand a man\nin stead at a later time, when it is not so easy to triumph over\ncircumstances, because the old buoyancy of animal spirits, which means\nso much in early days, has vanished; and then if he can look back and\nsee how he has been cultivating habits of endurance through years of\ndiscipline without his soul having been soured by the process, he may\nwell feel profoundly thankful for those early experiences which were\nundoubtedly very hard in their rawness.\n\nThe poet's reflections on the blessedness of quiet waiting are\nfollowed by direct exhortations to the behaviour which is its\nnecessary accompaniment--for such seems to be the meaning of the next\ntriplet, verses 28 to 30. The Revisers have corrected this from the\nindicative mood, as it stands in the Authorised Version, to the\nimperative--\"Let him sit alone,\" etc., \"Let him put his mouth in the\ndust,\" etc., \"Let him give his cheek to him that smiteth him,\" etc.\nThe exhortations flow naturally out of the preceding statements, but\nthe form they assume may strike us as somewhat singular. Who is the\nperson thus indirectly addressed? The grammar of the sentences would\ninvite our attention to the \"man\" of the twenty-seventh verse. If it\nis good for everybody to bear the yoke in his youth, it might be\nsuggested further that it would be well for everybody to act in the\nmanner now indicated--that is to say, the advice would be of universal\napplication. We must suppose, however, that the poet is thinking of a\nsufferer similar to himself.\n\nNow the point of the exhortation is to be found in the fact that it\ngoes beyond the placid state just described. It points to solitude,\nsilence, submission, humiliation, non-resistance. The principle of\ncalm, trustful expectancy is most beautiful; and if it were regarded\nby itself it could not but fascinate us, so that we should wonder how\nit would be possible for anybody to resist its attractions. But\nimmediately we try to put it in practice we come across some harsh and\npositively repellent features. When it is brought down from the\nethereal regions of poetry and set to work among the gritty facts of\nreal life, how soon it seems to lose its glamour! It can never become\nmean or sordid; and yet its surroundings may be so. Most humiliating\nthings are to be done, most insulting things endured. It is hard to\nsit in solitude and silence--a Ugolino in his tower of famine, a\nBonnivard in his dungeon; there seems to be nothing heroic in this\ndreary inactivity. It would be much easier to attempt some deed of\ndaring, especially if that were in the heat of battle. Nothing is so\ndepressing as loneliness--the torture of a prisoner in solitary\nconfinement. And yet now there must be no word of complaint because\nthe trouble comes from the very Being who is to be trusted for\ndeliverance. There is a call for action, however, but only to make the\nsubmission more complete and the humiliation more abject. The sufferer\nis to lay his mouth in the dust like a beaten slave.[193] Even this he\nmight brace himself to do, stifling the last remnant of his pride\nbecause he is before the Lord of heaven and earth. But it is not\nenough. A yet more bitter cup must be drunk to the dregs. He must\nactually turn his cheek to the smiter, and quietly submit to\nreproach.[194] God's wrath may be accepted as a righteous retribution\nfrom above. But it is hard indeed to manifest the same spirit of\nsubmission in face of the fierce malignity or the petty spite of men.\nYet silent waiting involves even this. Let us count the cost before we\nventure on the path which looks so beautiful in idea, but which turns\nout to be so very trying in fact.\n\n  [193] iii. 29.\n\n  [194] iii. 30.\n\nWe cannot consider this subject without being reminded of the teaching\nand--a more helpful memory--the example also of our Lord. It is hard\nto receive even from His lips the command to turn the other cheek to\none who has smitten us on the right cheek. But when we see Jesus doing\nthis very thing the whole aspect of it is changed. What before looked\nweak and cowardly is now seen to be the perfection of true courage and\nthe height of moral sublimity. By His own endurance of insult and\nignominy our Lord has completely revolutionised our ideas of\nhumiliation. His humiliation was His glorification. What a Roman\nwould despise as shameful weakness He has proved to be the triumph of\nstrength. Thus, though we may not be able to take the words of the\nLamentations as a direct prophecy of Jesus Christ, they so perfectly\nrealise themselves in the story of His Passion, that to Christendom\nthey must always be viewed in the light of that supreme wonder of a\nvictory won through submission; and while they are so viewed they\ncannot fail to set before us an ideal of conduct for the sufferer\nunder the most trying circumstances.\n\nThis advice is not so paradoxical as it appears. We are not called\nupon to accept it merely on the authority of the speaker. He follows\nit up by assigning good reasons for it. These are all based on the\nassumption which runs through the elegies, that the sufferings therein\ndescribed come from the hand of God. They are most of them the\nimmediate effects of man's enmity. But a Divine purpose is always to\nbe recognised behind the human instrumentality. This fact at once\nlifts the whole question out of the region of miserable, earthly\npassions and mutual recriminations. In apparently yielding to a tyrant\nfrom among his fellow-men the sufferer is really submitting to his\nGod.\n\nThen the elegist gives us three reasons why the submission should be\ncomplete and the waiting quiet. The _first_ is that the suffering is\nbut temporary. God seems to have cast off His afflicted servant. If so\nit is but for a season.[195] This is not a case of absolute desertion.\nThe sufferer is not treated as a reprobate. How could we expect\npatient submission from a soul that had passed the portals of a hell\nover which Dante's awful motto of despair was inscribed? If they who\nentered were to \"forsake all hope\" it would be a mockery to bid them\n\"be still.\" It would be more natural for these lost souls to shriek\nwith the fury of madness. The first ground of quiet waiting is hope.\nThe _second_ is to be found in God's unwillingness to afflict.[196] He\nnever takes up the rod, as we might say, _con amore_. Therefore the\ntrial will not be unduly prolonged. Since God Himself grieves to\ninflict it, the distress can be no more than is absolutely necessary.\nThe _third_ and last reason for this patience of submission is the\ncertainty that God cannot commit an injustice. So important is this\nconsideration in the eyes of the elegist that he devotes a complete\ntriplet to it, illustrating it from three different points of\nview.[197] We have the conqueror with his victims, the magistrate in a\ncase at law, and the private citizen in business. Each of these\ninstances affords an opportunity for injustice. God does not look with\napproval on the despot who crushes all his prisoners--for\nNebuchadnezzar's outrages are by no means condoned, although they are\nutilised as chastisements; nor on the judge who perverts the solemn\nprocess of law, when deciding, according to the Jewish theocratic\nidea, in place of God, the supreme Arbitrator, and, as the oath\ntestifies, in His presence; nor on the man who in a private capacity\ncircumvents his neighbour. But how can we ascribe to God what He will\nnot sanction in man? \"Shall not the Judge of all the earth do\nright?\"[198] exclaims the perplexed patriarch; and we feel that his\nplea is unanswerable. But if God is just we can afford to be patient.\nAnd yet we feel that while there is something to calm us and allay\nthe agonising terrors of despair in this thought of the unswerving\njustice of God, we must fall back for our most satisfying assurance on\nthat glorious truth which the poet finds confirmed by his daily\nexperience, and which he expresses with such a glow of hope in the\nrich phrase, \"Yet will He have compassion according to the multitude\nof His mercies.\"[199]\n\n  [195] iii. 31, 32\n\n  [196] iii. 33.\n\n  [197] iii. 34-6.\n\n  [198] Gen. xviii. 25.\n\n  [199] iii. 32.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\n_GOD AND EVIL_\n\niii. 37-9\n\n\nThe eternal problem of the relation of God to evil is here treated\nwith the keenest discrimination. That God is the supreme and\nirresistible ruler, that no man can succeed with any design in\nopposition to His will, that whatever happens must be in some way an\nexecution of His decree, and that He, therefore, is to be regarded as\nthe author of evil as well as good--these doctrines are so taken for\ngranted that they are neither proved nor directly affirmed, but thrown\ninto the form of questions that can have but one answer, as though to\nimply that they are known to everybody, and cannot be doubted for a\nmoment by any one. But the inference drawn from them is strange and\nstartling. It is that not a single living man has any valid excuse for\ncomplaining. That, too, is considered to be so undeniable that, like\nthe previous ideas, it is expressed as a self-answering question. But\nwe are not left in this paradoxical position. The evil experienced by\nthe sufferer is treated as the punishment of his sin. What right has\nhe to complain of that? A slightly various rendering has been proposed\nfor the thirty-ninth verse, so as to resolve into a question and its\nanswer. Read in this way, it asks, why should a living man complain?\nand then suggests the reply, that if he is to complain at all it\nshould not be on account of his sufferings, treated as wrongs. He\nshould complain against himself, his own conduct, his sin. We have\nseen, however, in other cases, that the breaking of a verse in this\nway is not in harmony with the smooth style of the elegiac poetry in\nwhich the words occur. This requires us to take the three verses of\nthe triplet as continuous, flowing sentences.\n\nQuite a number of considerations arise out of the curious\njuxtaposition of ideas in this passage. In the first place, it is very\nevident that by the word \"evil\" the writer here means trouble and\nsuffering, not wickedness, because he clearly distinguishes it from\nthe sin the mention of which follows. That sin is a man's own deed,\nfor which he is justly punished. The poet, then, does not attribute\nthe causation of sin to God; he does not speculate at all on the\norigin of moral evil. As far as he goes in the present instance, he\nwould seem to throw back the authorship of it upon the will of man.\nHow that will came to turn astray he does not say. This awful mystery\nremains unsolved through the whole course of the revelation of the Old\nTestament, and even through that of the New also. It cannot be\nmaintained that the story of the Fall in Genesis is a solution of the\nmystery. To trace temptation back to the serpent is not to account for\nits existence, nor for the facility with which man was found to yield\nto it. When, at a later period, Satan appears on the stage, it is not\nto answer the perplexing question of the origin of evil. In the Old\nTestament he is nowhere connected with the Fall--his identification\nwith the serpent first occurring in the Book of Wisdom,[200] from\nwhich apparently it passed into current language, and so was adopted\nby St. John in the Apocalypse.[201] At first Satan is the adversary\nand accuser of man, as in Job[202] and Zechariah;[203] then he is\nrecognised as the tempter, in Chronicles, for example.[204] But in no\ncase is he said to be the primary cause of evil. No plummet can sound\nthe depths of that dark pit in which lurks the source of sin.\n\n  [200] Wisdom ii. 23 ff.\n\n  [201] Rev. xii. 9.\n\n  [202] Job i. 6-12, ii. 1-7.\n\n  [203] Zech. iii. 1, 2.\n\n  [204] 1 Chron. xxi. 1.\n\nMeanwhile a very different problem, the problem of suffering, is\nanswered by attributing this form of evil quite unreservedly and even\nemphatically to God. It is to be remembered that our Lord, accepting\nthe language of His contemporaries, ascribes this to Satan, speaking\nof the woman afflicted with a spirit of infirmity as one whom Satan\nhad bound;[205] and that similarly St. Paul writes of his thorn in the\nflesh as a messenger of Satan,[206] to whom he also assigns the\nhindrance of a projected journey.[207] But in these cases it is not in\nthe least degree suggested that the evil spirit is an irresistible and\nirresponsible being. The language only points to his immediate agency.\nThe absolute supremacy of God is never called in question. There is no\nreal concession to Persian dualism anywhere in the Bible. In difficult\ncases the sacred writers seem more anxious to uphold the authority of\nGod than to justify His actions. They are perfectly convinced that\nthose actions are all just and right, and not to be called in\nquestion, and so they are quite fearless in attributing to His direct\ncommands occurrences that we should perhaps think more satisfactorily\naccounted for in some other way. In such cases theirs is the language\nof unfailing faith, even when faith is strained almost to breaking.\n\n  [205] Luke xiii. 16.\n\n  [206] 2 Cor. xii. 7.\n\n  [207] 1 Thess. ii. 18.\n\nThe unquestionable fact that good and evil both come from the mouth of\nthe Most High is based on the certain conviction that He _is_ the Most\nHigh. Since it cannot be believed that His decrees should be thwarted,\nit cannot be supposed that there is any rival to His power. To speak\nof evil as independent of God is to deny that He is God. This is what\na system of pure dualism must come to. If there are two mutually\nindependent principles in the universe neither of them can be God.\nDualism is as essentially opposed to the idea we attach to the name\n\"God\" as polytheism. The gods of the heathen are no gods, and so also\nare the imaginary twin divinities that divide the universe between\nthem, or contend in a vain endeavour to suppress one another. \"God,\"\nas we understand the title, is the name of the Supreme, the Almighty,\nthe King of kings and Lord of lords. The Zend-Avesta escapes the\nlogical conclusion of atheism by regarding its two principles, Ormuzd\nand Ahriman, as two streams issuing from a common fountain, or as two\nphases of one existence. But then it saves its theism at the expense\nof its dualism. In practice, however, this is not done. The dualism,\nthe mutual antagonism of the two powers, is the central idea of the\nParsee system; and being so, it stands in glaring contrast to the\nlofty monism of the Bible.\n\nNevertheless, it may be said, although it is thus necessary to\nattribute evil as well as good to God if we would not abandon the\nthought of His supremacy, a thought that is essential to our\nconception of His very nature, this is a perplexing necessity, and not\none to be accepted with any sense of satisfaction. How then can the\nelegist welcome it with acclamation and set it before us with an air\nof triumph? That he does so is undeniable, for the spirit and tone of\nthe poem here become positively exultant.\n\nWe may reply that the writer appears as the champion of the Divine\ncause. No attack on God's supremacy is to be permitted. Nothing of the\nkind, however, has been suggested. The writer is pursuing another aim,\nfor he is anxious to still the murmurs of discontent. But how can the\nthought of the supremacy of God have that effect? One would have\nsupposed the ascription to God of the trouble complained of would\ndeepen the sense of distress and turn the complaint against Him. Yet\nit is just here that the elegist sees the unreasonableness of a\ncomplaining spirit.\n\nOf course the uselessness of complaining, or rather the uselessness of\nattempting resistance, may be impressed upon us in this way. If the\nsource of our trouble is nothing less than the Almighty and Supreme\nRuler of all things it is stupid to dream of thwarting His purposes.\nIf a man will run his head like a battering-ram against a granite\ncliff the most he can effect by his madness will be to bespatter the\nrock with his brains. It may be necessary to warn the rebel against\nProvidence of this danger by shewing him that what he mistakes for a\nflimsy veil or a shadowy cloud is an immovable wall. But what will he\nfind to exult over in the information? The hopelessness of resistance\nis no better than the consolation of pessimism, and its goal is\ndespair. Our author, on the other hand, evidently intends to be\nreassuring.\n\nNow, is there not something reassuring in the thought that evil and\ngood come to us from one and the same source? For, consider the\nalternative. Remember, the evil exists as surely as the good. The\nelegist does not attempt to deny this, or to minimise the fact. He\nnever calls evil good, never explains it away. There it stands before\nus, in all its ugly actuality, speculations concerning its origin\nneither aggravating the severity of its symptoms nor alleviating them.\nWhence, then, did this perplexing fact arise? If we postulate some\nother source than the Divine origin of good, what is it? A dreadful\nmystery here yawns at our feet. If evil came from an equally potent\norigin it would contend with good on even terms, and the issue would\nalways hang in the balance. There could be nothing reassuring in that\ntantalising situation. The fate of the universe would be always\nquivering in uncertainty. And meanwhile we should have to conclude,\nthat the most awful conflict with absolutely doubtful issues was\nraging continually. We could only contemplate the idea of this vast\nschism with terror and dismay. But now assuredly there is something\ncalming in the thought of the unity of the power that distributes our\nfortunes; for this means that a man is in no danger of being tossed\nlike a shuttlecock between two gigantic rival forces. There must be a\nsingleness of aim in the whole treatment of us by Providence, since\nProvidence is one. Thus, if only as an escape from an inconceivably\nappalling alternative, this doctrine of the common source of good and\nevil is truly reassuring.\n\nWe may pursue the thought further. Since good and evil spring from one\nand the same source, they cannot be so mutually contradictory as we\nhave been accustomed to esteem them. They are two children of a common\nparent; then they must be brothers. But if they are so closely related\na certain family likeness may be traced between them. This does not\ndestroy the actuality of evil. But it robs it of its worst features.\nThe pain may be as acute as ever in spite of all our philosophising.\nBut the significance of it will be wholly changed. We can now no\nlonger treat it as an accursed thing. If it is so closely related to\ngood, we may not have far to go in order to discover that it is even\nworking for good.\n\nThen if evil and good come from the same source it is not just to\ncharacterise that source by reference to one only of its effluents. We\nmust not take a rose-coloured view of all things, and relapse into\nidle complacency, as we might do if we confined our observation to the\npleasant facts of existence, for the unpleasant facts--loss,\ndisappointment, pain, death--are equally real, and are equally derived\nfrom the very highest Authority. Neither are we justified in denying\nthe existence of the good when overwhelmed with a sense of the evil in\nlife. At worst we live in a very mixed world. It is unscientific, it\nis unjust to pick out the ills of life and gibbet them as specimens of\nthe way things are going. If we will recite the first part of such an\nelegy as that we are now studying, at least let us have the honesty to\nread on to the second part, where the surpassingly lovely vision of\nthe Divine compassion so much more than counterbalances the preceding\ngloom. Is it only by accident that the poet says \"evil and good,\" and\nnot, as we usually put the phrase, \"good and evil\"? Good shall have\nthe last word. Evil exists; but the finality and crown of existence is\nnot evil, but good.\n\nThe conception of the primary unity of causation which the Hebrew poet\nreaches through his religion is brought home to us to-day with a vast\naccumulation of proof by the discoveries of science. The uniformity\nof law, the co-relation of forces, the analyses of the most diverse\nand complex organisms into their common chemical elements, the\nevidence of the spectroscope to the existence of precisely the same\nelements among the distant stars, as well as the more minute\nhomologies of nature in the animal and vegetable kingdoms, are all\nirrefutable confirmations of this great truth. Moreover, science has\ndemonstrated the intimate association of what we cannot but regard as\ngood and evil in the physical universe. Thus, while carbon and oxygen\nare essential elements for the building up of all living things, the\neffect of perfectly healthy vital functions working upon them is to\ncombine them into carbonic acid, which is a most deadly poison; but\nthen this noxious gas becomes the food of plants, from which the\nanimal life in turn derives its nourishment. Similarly microbes, which\nwe commonly regard as the agents of corruption and disease, are found\nto be not only nature's scavengers, but also the indispensable\nministers of life, when clustering round the roots of plants in vast\ncrowds they convert the organic matter of the soil, such as manure,\ninto those inorganic nitrates which contain nitrogen in the form\nsuitable for absorption by vegetable organisms. The mischief wrought\nby germs, great as it is, is infinitely outweighed by the necessary\nservice existences of this kind render to all life by preparing some\nof its indispensable conditions. The inevitable conclusion to be drawn\nfrom facts such as these is that health and disease, and life and\ndeath, interact, are inextricably blended together, and mutually\ntransformable--what we call disease and death in one place being\nnecessary for life and health in another. The more clearly we\nunderstand the processes of nature the more evident is the fact of\nher unity, and therefore the more impossible is it for us to think of\nher objectionable characteristics as foreign to her being--alien\nimmigrants from another sphere. Physical evil itself looks less\ndreadful when it is seen to take its place as an integral part of the\ncomplicated movement of the whole system of the universe.\n\nBut the chief reason for regarding the prospect with more than\nsatisfaction has yet to be stated. It is derived from the character of\nHim to whom both the evil and the good are attributed. We can go\nbeyond the assertion that these contrarieties spring from one common\norigin to the great truth that this origin is to be found in God. All\nthat we know of our Father in heaven comes to our aid in reflecting\nupon the character of the actions thus attributed to Him. The account\nof God's goodness that immediately precedes this ascription of the two\nextreme experiences of life to Him would be in the mind of the writer,\nand it should be in the mind of the reader also. The poet has just\nbeen dwelling very emphatically on the indubitable justice of God.\nWhen, therefore, he reminds us that both evil and good come from the\nDivine Being, it is as though he said that they both originated in\njustice. A little earlier he was expressing the most fervent\nappreciation of the mercy and compassion of God. Then these gracious\nattributes should be in our thoughts while we hear that the mixed\nexperiences of life are to be traced back to Him of whom so cheering a\nview can be taken.\n\nWe know the love of God much more fully since it has been revealed to\nus in Jesus Christ. Therefore we have a much better reason for\nbuilding our faith and hope on the fact of the universal Divine origin\nof events. In itself the evil exists all the same whether we can\ntrace its cause or not, and the discovery of the cause in no way\naggravates it. But this discovery may lead us to take a new view of\nits issues. If it comes from One who is as just and merciful as He is\nmighty we may certainly conclude that it will lead to the most blessed\nresults. Considered in the light of the assured character of its\npurpose, the evil itself must assume a totally different character.\nThe child who receives a distasteful draught from the hand of the\nkindest of parents knows that it cannot be a cup of poison, and has\ngood reason for believing it to be a necessary medicine.\n\nThe last verse of the triplet startles the reader with an unexpected\nthought. The considerations already adduced are all meant to check any\ncomplaint against the course of Providence. Now the poet appends a\nfinal argument, which is all the more forcible for not being stated as\nan argument. At the very end of the passage, when we are only\nexpecting the language to sink into a quiet conclusion, a new idea\nsprings out upon us, like a tiger from its lair. This trouble about\nwhich a man is so ready to complain, as though it were some\nunaccountable piece of injustice, is simply _the punishment of his\nsin_! Like the other ideas of the passage, the notion is not\ntentatively argued; it is boldly taken for granted. Once again we see\nthat there is no suspicion in the mind of the elegist of the\nperplexing problem that gives its theme to the Book of Job. But do we\nnot sometimes press that problem too far? Can it be denied that, to a\nlarge extent, suffering is the direct consequence and the natural\npunishment of sin? Are we not often burnt for the simple reason that\nwe have been playing with fire? At all events, the whole course of\nprevious prophecy went to shew that the national sins of Israel must\nbe followed by some dreadful disasters; and when the war-cloud was\nhovering on the horizon Jeremiah saw in it the herald of approaching\ndoom. Then the thunderbolt fell; and the wreck it caused became the\ntopic of this Book of Lamentations. After such a preparation, what was\nmore natural, and reasonable, and even inevitable, than that the\nelegist should calmly assume that the trouble complained of was no\nmore than was due to the afflicted people? This is clear enough when\nwe think of the nation as a whole. It is not so obvious when we turn\nour attention to individual cases; but the bewildering problem of the\nsufferings of innocent children, which constitutes the most prominent\nfeature in the poet's picture of the miseries of the Jews, is not here\nrevived.\n\nWe must suppose that he is thinking of a typical citizen of Jerusalem.\nIf the guilty city merited severe punishment, such a man as this would\nalso merit it; for the deserts of the city are only the deserts of her\ncitizens. It will be for everybody to say for himself how far the\nsolution of the mystery of his own troubles is to be looked for in\nthis direction. A humble conscience will not be eager to repudiate the\npossibility that its owner has not been punished beyond his deserts,\nwhatever may be thought of other people, innocent children in\nparticular. There is one word that may bring out this aspect of the\nquestion with more distinctness--the word \"living.\" The poet asks,\n\"Wherefore doth a _living_ man complain?\" Why does he attach this\nattribute to the subject of his question? The only satisfactory\nexplanation that has been offered is that he would remind us that\nwhile the sufferer has his life preserved to him he has no valid\nground of complaint. He has not been overpaid; he has not even been\npaid in full; for it is an Old Testament doctrine which the New\nTestament repeats when it declares that \"the wages of sin is\ndeath.\"[208]\n\n  [208] Rom. vi. 23.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\n_THE RETURN_\n\niii. 40-42\n\n\nWhen prophets, speaking in the name of God, promised the exiles a\nrestoration to their land and the homes of their fathers, it was\nalways understood and often expressly affirmed that this reversal of\ntheir outward fortunes must be preceded by an inner change, a return\nto God in penitent submission. Expulsion from Canaan was the\nchastisement of apostasy from God; it was only right and reasonable\nthat the discipline should be continued as long as the sin that\nnecessitated it remained. It would be a mistake, however, to relegate\nthe treatment of this deadly sin to a secondary place, as only the\ncause of a more serious trouble. There could be no more serious\ntrouble. The greatest evil from which Israel suffered was not the\nBabylonian exile; it was her self-inflicted banishment from God. The\ngreatest blessing to be sought for her was not liberty to return to\nthe hills and cities of Palestine; it was permission and power to come\nback to God. It takes us long to learn that sin is worse than\npunishment, and that to be brought home to our Father in heaven is a\nmore desirable good than any earthly recovery of prosperity. But the\nsoul that can say with the elegist, \"The Lord is my portion,\" has\nreached the vantage ground from which the best things can be seen in\ntheir true proportions; and to such a soul no advent of temporal\nprosperity can compare with the gaining of its one prized possession.\nIn the triplet of verses that follows the pointed phrase which rebukes\ncomplaint for suffering by attributing it to sin the poet conducts us\nto those high regions where the more spiritual truth concerning these\nmatters can be appreciated.\n\nThe form of the language here passes into the plural. Already we have\nbeen made to feel that the man who has seen affliction is a\nrepresentative sufferer, although he is describing his own personal\ndistresses. The immediately preceding clause seems to point to the\nsinful Israelite generally, in its vague reference to a \"living\nman.\"[209] Now there is a transition in the movement of the elegy, and\nthe solitary voice gives place to a chorus, the Jews as a body\nappearing before God to pour out their confessions in common.\nAccording to his usual method the elegist makes the transition quite\nabruptly, without any explanatory preparation. The style resembles\nthat of an oratorio, in which solo and chorus alternate with close\nsequence. In the present instance the effect is not that of dramatic\nvariety, because we feel the vital sympathy that the poet cherishes\nfor his people, so that their experience is as his experience. It is a\nfaint shadow of the condition of the great Sin-bearer, of whom it\ncould be said, \"In all their affliction He was afflicted.\"[210]\n\n  [209] iii. 39.\n\n  [210] Isa. lxiii. 9.\n\nBefore it is possible to return to God, before the desire to return is\neven awakened, a much less inviting action must be undertaken. The\nfirst and greatest hindrance to reconciliation with our Father is our\nfailure to recognise that any such reconciliation is necessary. The\nmost deadening effect of sin is seen in the fact that it prevents the\nsinner from perceiving that he is at enmity with God at all, although\nby everything he does he proclaims his rebellion. The Pharisee of the\nparable cannot be justified, cannot really approach God at all,\nbecause he will not admit that he needs any justification, or is\nguilty of any conduct that separates him from God. Just as the most\nhopeless state of ignorance is that in which there is a serene\nunconsciousness of any deficiency of knowledge, so the most abandoned\ncondition of guilt is the inability to perceive the very existence of\nguilt. The sick man who ignores his disease will not resort to a\nphysician for the cure of it. If the soul's quarrel with her Lord is\never to be ended it must be discovered. Therefore the first step will\nbe in the direction of self-examination.\n\nWe are led to look in this direction by the startling thought with\nwhich the previous triplet closes. If the calamities bewailed are the\nchastisements of sin it is necessary for this sin to be sought out.\nThe language of the elegist suggests that we are not aware of the\nnature of our own conduct, and that it is only by some serious effort\nthat we can make ourselves acquainted with it, for this is what he\nimplies when he represents the distressed people resolving to \"search\nand try\" their ways. Easy as it may seem in words, experience proves\nthat nothing is more difficult in practice than to fulfil the precept\nof the philosopher, \"Know thyself.\" The externalism in which most of\nour lives are spent makes the effort to look within a painful\ncontradiction of habit. When it is attempted pride and prejudice face\nthe inquirer, and too often quite hide the true self from view. If\nthe pursuit is pushed on in spite of these hindrances the result may\nprove to be a sad surprise. Sometimes we see ourselves unexpectedly\nrevealed, and then the sight of so great a novelty amazes us. The\nphotographer's proof of a portrait dissatisfies the subject, not\nbecause it is a bad likeness, but rather because it is too faithful to\nbe pleasing. A wonderful picture of Rossetti's represents a young\ncouple who are suddenly confronted in a lonely forest by the\napparition of their two selves as simply petrified with terror at the\nappalling spectacle.\n\nEven when the effort to acquire self-knowledge is strenuous and\npersevering, and accompanied by an honest resolution to accept the\nresults, however unwelcome they may be, it often fails for lack of a\nstandard of judgment. We compare ourselves with ourselves--our present\nwith our past, or at best our actual life with our ideals. But this is\na most illusory process, and its limits are too narrow. Or we compare\nourselves with our neighbours--a possible advance, but still a most\nunsatisfactory method; for we know so little of them, all of us\ndwelling more or less like stars apart, and none of us able to sound\nthe abysmal depths of another's personality. Even if we could fix this\nstandard it too would be very illusory, because those people with whom\nwe are making the comparison, quite as much as we ourselves, may be\nastray, just as a whole planetary system, though perfectly balanced in\nthe mutual relations of its own constituent worlds, may yet be out of\nits orbit, and rushing on all together towards some awful common\ndestruction.\n\nA more trustworthy standard may be found in the heart-searching words\nof Scripture, which prove to be as much a revelation of man to\nhimself as one of God to man. This Divine test reaches its perfection\nin the historical presentation of our Lord. We discover our actual\ncharacters most effectually when we compare our conduct with the\nconduct of Jesus Christ. As the Light of the world, He leads the world\nto see itself. He is the great touchstone of character. During His\nearthly life hypocrisy was detected by His searching glance; but that\nwas not admitted by the hypocrite. It is when He comes to us\nspiritually that His promise is fulfilled, and the Comforter convinces\nof sin as well as of righteousness and judgment. Perhaps it is not so\neminently desirable as Burns would have us believe, that we should see\nourselves as others see us; but it is supremely important to behold\nourselves in the pure, searching light of the Spirit of Christ.\n\nWe may be reminded, on the other hand, that too much introspection is\nnot wholesome, that it begets morbid ways of thought, paralyses the\nenergies, and degenerates into insipid sentimentality. No doubt it is\nbest that the general tendency of the mind should be towards the\nactive duties of life. But to admit this is not to deny that there may\nbe occasions when the most ruthless self-examination becomes a duty of\nfirst importance. A season of severe chastisement, such as that to\nwhich the Book of Lamentations refers, is one that calls most\ndistinctly for the exercise of this rare duty. We cannot make our\ndaily meal of drugs; but drugs may be most necessary in sickness.\nPossibly if we were in a state of perfectly sound spiritual health it\nmight be well for us never to spare a thought for ourselves from our\ncomplete absorption with the happy duties of a full and busy life. But\nsince we are far from being thus healthy, since we err and fail and\nsin, time devoted to the discovery of our faults may be exceedingly\nwell spent.\n\nThen while a certain kind of self-study is always mischievous--the\nsickly habit of brooding over one's feelings, it is to be observed\nthat the elegist does not recommend this. His language points in quite\nanother direction. It is not emotion but action that he is concerned\nwith. The searching is to be into our \"ways,\" the course of our\nconduct. There is an objectivity in this inquiry, though it is turned\ninward, that contrasts strongly with the investigation of shadowy\nsentiments. Conduct, too, is the one ground of the judgment of God.\nTherefore the point of supreme importance to ourselves is to determine\nwhether conduct is right or wrong. With this branch of self-examination\nwe are not in so much danger of falling into complete delusions as when\nwe are considering less tangible questions. Thus this is at once the most\nwholesome, the most necessary, and the most practicable process of\nintrospection.\n\nThe particular form of conduct here referred to should be noted. The\nword \"ways\" suggests habit and continuity. These are more\ncharacteristic than isolated deeds--short spasms of virtue or sudden\nfalls before temptation. The final judgment will be according to the\nlife, not its exceptional episodes. A man lives his habits. He may be\ncapable of better things, he may be liable to worse; but he is what he\ndoes habitually. The world will applaud him for some outburst of\nheroism in which he rises for the moment above the sordid level of his\nevery-day his, or execrate him for his shameful moment of\nself-forgetfulness; and the world will have this amount of justice in\nits action, that the capacity for the occasional is itself a permanent\nattribute, although the opportunity for the active working of the\nlatent good or evil is rare. The startling outburst may be a\nrevelation of old but hitherto hidden \"ways.\" It must be so to some\nextent; for no man wholly belies his own nature unless he is\nmad--beside himself, as we say. Still it may not be so entirely, or\neven chiefly; the surprised self may not be the normal self, often is\nnot. Meanwhile our main business in self-examination is to trace the\ncourse of the unromantic beaten track, the long road on which we\ntravel from morning to evening through the whole day of life.\n\nThe result of this search into the character of their ways on the part\nof the people is that it is found to be necessary to forsake them\nforthwith; for the next idea is in the form of a resolution to turn\nout of them, nay, to turn back, retracing the footsteps that have gone\nastray, in order to come to God again. These ways are discovered,\nthen, to be bad--vicious in themselves, and wrong in their direction.\nThey run downhill, away from the home of the soul, and towards the\nabodes of everlasting darkness. When this fact is perceived it becomes\napparent that some complete change must be made. This is a case of\nending our old ways, not mending them. Good paths may be susceptible\nof improvement. The path of the just should \"shine more and more unto\nthe perfect day.\" But here things are too hopelessly bad for any\nattempt at amelioration. No engineering skill will ever transform the\npath that points straight to perdition into one that conducts us up to\nthe heights of heaven. The only chance of coming to walk in the right\nway is to forsake the wrong way altogether, and make an entirely new\nstart. Here, then, we have the Christian doctrine of conversion--a\ndoctrine which always appears extravagant to people who take\nsuperficial views of sin, but one that will be appreciated just in\nproportion to the depth and seriousness of our ideas of its guilt.\nNothing contributes more to unreality in religion than strong language\non the nature of repentance apart from a corresponding consciousness\nof the tremendous need of a most radical change. This deplorable\nmischief must be brought about when indiscriminate exhortations to the\nextreme practice of penitence are addressed to mixed congregations. It\ncannot be right to press the necessity of conversion upon young\nchildren and the carefully sheltered and lovingly trained youth of\nChristian homes in the language that applies to their unhappy brothers\nand sisters who have already made shipwreck of life. This statement is\nliable to misapprehension; doubtless to some readers it will savour of\nthe light views of sin deprecated above, and point to the excuses of\nthe Pharisee. Nevertheless it must be considered if we would avoid the\ncharacteristic sin of the Pharisee, hypocrisy. It is unreasonable to\nsuppose that the necessity of a complete conversion can be felt by the\nyoung and comparatively innocent as it should be felt by abandoned\nprofligates, and the attempt of the preacher to force it on their\nrelatively pure consciences is a direct incentive to cant. The\nfifty-first Psalm is the confession of his crime by a murderer;\nAugustine's _Confessions_ are the outpourings of a man who feels that\nhe has been dragging his earlier life through the mire; Bunyan's\n_Grace Abounding_ reveals the memories of a rough soldier's shame and\nfolly. No good can come of the unthinking application of such\nutterances to persons whose history and character are entirely\ndifferent from those of the authors.\n\nOn the other hand, there are one or two further considerations which\nshould be borne in mind. Thus it must not be forgotten that the\ngreatest sinner is not necessarily the man whose guilt is most\nglaringly apparent; nor that sins of the heart count with God as\nequivalent to obviously wicked deeds committed in the full light of\nday; nor that guilt cannot be estimated absolutely, by the bare evil\ndone, without regard to the opportunities, privileges, and temptations\nof the offender. Then, the more we meditate upon the true nature of\nsin, the more deeply must we be impressed with its essential evil even\nwhen it is developed only slightly in comparison with the hideous\ncrimes and vices that blacken the pages of history--as, for example,\nin the careers of a Nero or a Caesar Borgia. The sensitive conscience\ndoes not only feel the exact guilt of its individual offences, but\nalso, and much more, \"the exceeding sinfulness of sin.\" When we\nconsider their times and the state of the society in which they lived,\nwe must feel that neither Augustine nor Bunyan had been so wicked as\nthe intensity of the language of penitence they both employed might\nlead us to suppose. It is quite foreign to the nature of heartfelt\nrepentance to measure degrees of guilt. In the depth of its shame and\nhumiliation no language of contrition seems to be too strong to give\nit adequate expression. But this must be entirely spontaneous; it is\nmost unwise to impose it from without in the form of an indiscriminate\nappeal to abject penitence.\n\nThen it is also to be observed that while the fundamental change\ndescribed in the New Testament as a new birth cannot well be regarded\nas a thing of repeated occurrence, we may have occasion for many\nconversions. Every time we turn into the wrong path we put ourselves\nunder the necessity of turning back if ever we would walk in the\nright path again. What is that but conversion? It is a pity that we\nshould be hampered by the technicality of a term. This may lead to\nanother kind of error--the error of supposing that if we are once\nconverted we are converted for life, that we have crossed our Rubicon,\nand cannot recross it. Thus while the necessity of a primary\nconversion may be exaggerated in addresses to the young, the greater\nneed of subsequent conversions may be neglected in the thoughts of\nadults. The \"converted\" person who relies on the one act of his past\nexperience to serve as a talisman for all future time is deluding\nhimself in a most dangerous manner. Can it be asserted that Peter had\nnot been \"converted,\" in the technical sense, when he fell through\nundue self-confidence, and denied his Master with \"oaths and curses?\"\n\nAgain--a very significant fact--the return is described in positive\nlanguage. It is a coming back to God, not merely a departure from the\nold way of sin. The initial impulse towards a better life springs more\nreadily from the attraction of a new hope than from the repulsion of a\nloathed evil. The hopeful repentance is exhilarating, while that which\nis only born of the disgust and horror of sin is dismally depressing.\nLurid pictures of evil rarely beget penitence. The _Newgate Calendar_\nis not to be credited with the reformation of criminals. Even Dante's\n_Inferno_ is no gospel. In prosecuting his mission as the prophet of\nrepentance John the Baptist was not content to declare that the axe\nwas laid at the root of the tree; the pith of his exhortation was\nfound in the glad tidings that \"the kingdom of heaven is at hand.\" St.\nPaul shows that it is the goodness of God that leads us to repentance.\nBesides, the repentance that is induced by this means is of the best\ncharacter. It escapes the craven slavishness of fear; it is not a\nmerely selfish shrinking from the lash; it is inspired by the pure\nlove of a worthy end. Only remorse lingers in the dark region of\nregrets for the past. Genuine repentance always turns a hopeful look\ntowards a better future. It is of little use to exorcise the spirit of\nevil if the house is not to be tenanted by the spirit of good. Thus\nthe end and purpose of repentance is to be reunited to God.\n\nFollowing up his general exhortation to return to God, the elegist\nadds a particular one, in which the process of the new movement is\ndescribed. It takes the form of a prayer from the heart. The\nresolution is to lift up the heart with the hands. The erect posture,\nwith the hands stretched out to heaven, which was the Hebrew attitude\nin prayer, had often been assumed in meaningless acts of formal\nworship before there was any real approach to God or any true\npenitence. Now the repentance will be manifested by the reality of the\nprayer. Let the heart also be lifted up. The true approach to God is\nan act of the inner life, to which in its entirety--thought,\naffection, and will--the Jewish metaphor of the heart points.\n\nLastly, the poet furnishes the returning penitents with the very\nlanguage of the heart's prayer, which is primarily confession. The\ndoleful fact that God has not pardoned His people is directly stated,\nbut not in the first place. This statement is preceded by a clear and\nunreserved confession of sin. Repentance must be followed by\nconfession. It is not a private matter concerning the offender alone.\nSince the offence was directed against another, the amendment must\nbegin with a humble admission of the wrong that has been done. Thus,\nimmediately the prodigal son is met by his father he sobs out his\nconfession;[211] and St. John assigns confession as an essential\npreliminary to forgiveness, saying: \"If we confess our sins, He is\nfaithful and righteous to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from\nall unrighteousness.\"[212]\n\n  [211] Luke xv. 21.\n\n  [212] 1 John i. 9.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\n_GRIEVING BEFORE GOD_\n\niii. 43-54\n\n\nAs might have been expected, the mourning patriot quickly forsakes the\npatch of sunshine which lights up a few verses of this elegy. But the\nvision of it has not come in vain; for it leaves gracious effects to\ntone the gloomy ideas upon which the meditations of the poet now\nreturn like birds of the night hastening back to their darksome\nhaunts. In the first place, his grief is no longer solitary. It is\nenlarged in its sympathies so as to take in the sorrows of others.\nPurely selfish trouble tends to become a mean and sordid thing. If we\nare not yet freed from our own pain some element of a nobler nature\nwill be imported into it when we can find room for the larger thoughts\nthat the contemplation of the distresses of others arouses. But a\ngreater change than this has taken place. The \"man who hath seen\naffliction\" now feels himself to be in the presence of God. Speaking\nfor others as well as for himself he pours out his lamentations before\nGod. In the first part of the elegy he had only mentioned the Divine\nname as that of his great Antagonist; now it is the name of his close\nConfidant.\n\nThen the elegist is here giving voice to the people's penitent\nconfession and prayer. This is another feature of the changed\nsituation. An unqualified admission of the truth that the sufferings\nof Israel are just the merited punishment of the people's sin has come\nbetween the complaints with which the poem opens, and the renewed\nexpressions of grief.\n\nStill, when all due allowance is made for these improvements, the\nrenewed outburst of grief is sufficiently dismal. The people are\nsupposed to represent themselves as being hunted down like helpless\nfugitives, and slain without pity by God, who has wrapped Himself in a\nmantle of anger, which is as a cloud impenetrable to the prayers of\nHis miserable victims.[213] This description of their helpless state\nfollows immediately after an outpouring of prayer. It would seem,\ntherefore, that the poet conceived that this particular utterance was\nhindered from reaching the ear of God. Now in many cases it may be\nthat a feeling such as is here expressed is purely subjective and\nimaginary. The soul's cry of agony passes out into the night, and dies\naway into silence, without eliciting a whisper of response. Yet it is\nnot necessary to conclude that the cry is not heard. The closest\nattention may be the most silent. But, it may be objected, this\npossibility only aggravates the evil; for it is better not to hear at\nall than to hear and not to heed. Will any one attribute such stony\nindifference to God? God may attend, and yet He may not speak to\nus--speech not being the usual form of Divine response. He may be\nhelping us most effectually in silence, unperceived by us, at the very\nmoment when we imagine that He has completely deserted us. If we were\nmore keenly alive to the signs of His coming we should be less hasty\nto despair at the failure of our prayers. The priests of Baal may\nscream, \"O Baal, hear us!\" from morning to night till their phrensy\nsinks into despair; but that is no reason why men and women who\nworship a spiritual God should come to the conclusion that their\ninability to wrest a sign from Heaven is itself a sign of desertion by\nHim to whom they call. The oracle may be dumb; but the God whom we\nworship is not limited to the utterance of prophetic voices for the\nexpression of His will. He hears, even if in silence; and, in truth,\nHe also answers, though we are too deaf in our unbelief to discern the\nstill small voice of His Spirit.\n\n  [213] iii. 44.\n\nBut can we say that the idea of the Divine disregard of prayer is\nalways and only imaginary? Are the clouds that come between us and God\ninvariably earthborn? Does He never really wrap Himself in the garment\nof wrath? Surely we dare not say so much. The anger of God is as real\nas His love. No being can be perfectly holy and not feel a righteous\nindignation in the presence of sin. But if God is angry, and while He\nis so, He cannot at the same time be holding friendly intercourse with\nthe people who are provoking His wrath. Then the Divine anger must be\nas a thick, impervious curtain between the prayers of the sinful and\nthe gracious hearing of God. The universal confession of the need of\nan atonement is a witness to the perception of this condition by\nmankind. Whether we are dealing with the crude notions of ancient\nsacrifice, or with the high thoughts that circle about Calvary, the\nsame spiritual instinct presses for recognition. We may try to reason\nit down, but it persistently reasserts itself. Most certainly it is\nnot the teaching of Scripture that the only condition of salvation is\nprayer. The Gospel is not to the effect that we are to be saved by our\nown petitions. The penitent is taught to feel that without Christ and\nthe cross his prayers are of no avail for his salvation. Even if they\nknew no respite still they would never atone for sin. Is not this an\naxiom of evangelical doctrine? Then the prayers that are offered in\nthe old unreconciled condition must fall back on the head of the vain\npetitioner unable to penetrate the awful barrier that he has himself\ncaused to be raised between his cries and the heavens where God\ndwells.\n\nTurning from the contemplation of the hopeless failure of prayer the\nlament naturally falls into an almost despairing wail of grief. The\nstate of the Jews is painted in the very darkest colours. God has made\nthem as no better than the refuse people cast out of their houses, or\nthe very sweepings of the streets--not fit even to be trampled under\nfoot of men.[214] This is their position among the nations. The poet\nseems to be alluding to the exceptional severity with which the\nobstinate defenders of Jerusalem had been treated by their exasperated\nconquerors. The neighbouring tribes had been compelled to succumb\nbeneath the devastating wave of the Babylonian invasion; but since\nnone of them had offered so stubborn a resistance to the armies of\nNebuchadnezzar none of them had been punished by so severe a scourge\nof vengeance. So it has been repeatedly with the unhappy people who\nhave encountered unparalled persecutions through the long weary ages\nof their melancholy history. In the days of Antiochus Epiphanes the\nJews were the most insulted and cruelly outraged victims of Syrian\ntyranny. When their long tragedy reached a climax at the final siege\nof Jerusalem by Titus, the more liberal-minded Roman government laid\non them harsh punishments of exile, slavery, torture, and death, such\nas it rarely inflicted on a fallen foe--for with statesmanlike wisdom\nthe Romans preferred, as a rule, conciliation to extermination; but in\nthe case of this one unhappy city of Jerusalem the almost unique fate\nof the hated and dreaded city of Carthage was repeated. So it was in\nthe Middle Ages, as _Ivanhoe_ vividly shows; and so it is to-day in\nthe East of Europe, as the fierce _Juden-hetze_ is continually\nproving. The irony of history is nowhere more apparent than in the\nfact that the \"favoured\" people, the \"chosen\" people of Jehovah,\nshould have been treated so continuously as \"the offscouring and\nrefuse in the midst of the peoples.\" As privilege and responsibility\nalways go hand in hand, so also do blessing and suffering--the Jew\nhated, the Church persecuted, the Christ crucified. We cannot say that\nthis paradox is simply \"a mysterious dispensation of Providence;\"\nbecause in the case of Israel, at all events in the early ages, the\nunparalleled misery was traced to the abuse of unparalleled favour.\nBut this does not exhaust the mystery, for in the most striking\ninstances innocence suffers. We can have no satisfaction in our view\nof these contradictions till we see the glory of the martyr's crown\nand the even higher glory of the triumph of Christ and His people over\nfailure, agony, insult, and death; but just in proportion as we are\nable to lift up the eyes of faith to the blessedness of the unseen\nworld, we shall be able also to discover that even here and now there\nis a pain that is better than pleasure, and a shame that is truest\nglory.\n\n  [214] iii. 45.\n\nThese truths, however, are not readily perceived at the time of\nendurance, when the iron is entering into the soul. The elegist feels\nthe degradations of his people most keenly, and he represents them\ncomplaining how their enemies rage at them as with open\nmouths--belching forth gross insults, shouting curses, like wild\nbeasts ready to devour their hapless victims.[215] There seems to be\nnothing in store for them but the terrors of death, the pit of\ndestruction.[216]\n\n  [215] iii. 46.\n\n  [216] iii. 47.\n\nAt the contemplation of this extremity of hopeless misery the poet\ndrops the plural number, in which he has been personating his people,\nas abruptly as he assumed it a few verses earlier, and bewails the\ndread calamities in his own person.[217] Then, in truly Jeremiah-like\nfashion, he describes his incessant weeping for the woes of the\nwretched citizens of Jerusalem and the surrounding villages. The\nreference to \"the daughters of my city\"[218] seems to be best\nexplained as a figurative expression for the neighbouring places, all\nof which it would seem had shared in the devastation produced by the\ngreat wave of conquest which had overwhelmed the capital. But the\nprevious mention of \"the daughter of my people,\"[219] followed as it\nis by this phrase about \"the daughters of my city,\" strikes a deeper\nnote of compassion. These places contained many defenceless women, the\nindescribable cruelty of whose fate when they fell into the hands of\nthe brutal heathen soldiery was one of the worst features of the whole\nghastly scene; and the wretchedness of the once proud city and its\ndependencies when they were completely overthrown is finely\nrepresented so as to appeal most effectually to our sympathy by a\nmetaphor that pictures them as hapless maidens, touching us like\nSpenser's piteous picture of the forlorn Una, deserted in the forest\nand left a prey to its savage denizens. Like Una, too, the daughters\nin this metaphor claim the chivalry which our English poet has so\nexquisitely portrayed as awakened even in the breast of a wild animal.\nThe woman of Europe is far removed from her sister in the East, who\nstill follows the ancient type in submitting to the imputation of\nweakness as a claim for consideration. But this is because Europe has\nlearnt that strength of character--in which woman can be at least the\nequal of man--is more potent in a community civilised in the Christian\nway than strength of muscle. Where the more brutal forces are let\nloose the duties of chivalry are always in requisition. Then it is\napparent that deference to the claims of women for protection produces\na civilising effect in softening the roughness of men. It is difficult\nto say it to-day in the teeth of the just claims that women are\nmaking, and still more difficult in face of what women are now\nachieving, in spite of many relics of barbarism in the form of unfair\nrestrictions, but yet it must be asserted that the feebleness of\nfemininity--in the old-fashioned sense of the word--pervades these\npoems, and is their most touching characteristic, so that much of the\npathos and beauty of poetry such as that of these elegies is to be\ntraced to representations of woman wronged and suffering and calling\nfor the sympathy of all beholders.\n\n  [217] iii. 48 ff.\n\n  [218] iii. 51.\n\n  [219] iii. 48.\n\nThe poet is moved to tears--quite unselfish tears, tears of patriotic\ngrief, tears of compassion for helpless suffering. Here again the\nmodern Anglo-Saxon habit makes it difficult for us to appreciate his\nconduct as it deserves. We think it a dreadful thing for a man to be\nseen weeping; and a feeling of shame accompanies such an outburst of\nunrestrained distress. But surely there are holy tears, and tears\nwhich it is an honour for any one to be capable of shedding. If mere\ncallousness is the explanation of dry eyes in view of sorrow, there\ncan be no credit for such a condition. This is not the restraint of\ntears. Nothing is easier than for the unfeeling not to weep. Nor can\nit be maintained that it is always necessary to restrain the outward\nexpression of sympathy in accordance with its most natural impulses.\nOur Lord was strong; yet we could never wish that the evangelist had\nnot had occasion to write the ever memorable sentence, \"Jesus wept.\"\nSufferers lose much, not only from lack of sympathy, but also from a\nshy concealment of the fellow-feeling that is truly experienced. There\nare seasons of keenest agony, when to weep with those who weep is me\nonly possible expression of brotherly kindness; and this may be a very\nreal act of love, appreciably alleviating suffering. A little courage\non the part of Englishmen in daring to weep would knit the ties of\nbrotherhood more closely. At present a chill reserve rather than any\nactual coldness of heart separates people who might be much more\nhelpful to one another if they could but bring themselves to break\ndown this barrier.\n\nBut while the poet is thus expressing his large patriotic grief he\ncannot forget his own private sorrows. They are all parts of one\ncommon woe. So he returns to his personal experience, and adds some\ngraphic details that enable us to picture him in the midst of his\nmisery.[220] Though he had never provoked the enemy, he was chased\nlike a bird, flung into a dungeon, where a stone was hurled down upon\nhim, and where the water was lying so deep that he was completely\nsubmerged. There is no reason to question that definite statements\nsuch as these represent the exact experience of the writer. At the\nfirst glance they call to our minds the persecutions inflicted on\nJeremiah by his own people. But the allusion would be peculiarly\ninappropriate, and the cases do not quite fit together. The poet has\nbeen bewailing the sufferings of the Jews at the hands of the\nChaldaeans, and he seems to identify his own troubles in the closest\nway with the general flood of calamities that swept over his nation.\nIt would be quite out of place for him to insert here a reminder of\nearlier troubles which his own people had inflicted upon him. Besides,\nthe particulars do not exactly agree with what we learn of the\nprophet's hardships from his own pen. The dungeon into which he was\nflung was very foul, and he sank in the mire, but it is expressly\nstated that there was no water in it, and there is no mention of\nstoning.[221] There were many sufferers in that dark time of tumult\nand outrage whose fate was as hard as that of Jeremiah.\n\n  [220] iii. 52 ff.\n\n  [221] Jer. xxxviii. 6.\n\nA graphic picture like this helps us to imagine the fearful\naccompaniments of the destruction of Jerusalem much better than any\ngeneral summary. As we gaze at this one scene among the many miseries\nthat followed the siege--the poet hunted out and run down, his capture\nand conveyance to the dungeon, apparently without a shadow of a trial,\nthe danger of drowning and the misery of standing in the water that\nhad gathered in a place so utterly unfit for human habitation, the\nneedless additional cruelty of the stone-throwing--there rises before\nus a picture which cannot but impress our minds with the unutterable\nwretchedness of the sufferers from such a calamity as the siege of\nJerusalem. Of course there must have been some special reason for the\nexceptionally severe treatment of the poet. What this was we cannot\ntell. If the same patriotic spirit burned in his soul in the midst of\nthe war as we now find at the time of later reflection, it would be\nmost reasonable to conjecture that the ardent lover of his country had\ndone or said something to irritate the enemy, and possibly that as he\ndevoted his poetic gifts at a subsequent time to lamenting the\noverthrow of his city, he may have employed them with a more practical\npurpose among the battle scenes to write some inspiring martial ode in\nwhich we may be sure he would not have spared the ruthless invader.\nBut then he says his persecution was without a cause. He may have been\nundeservedly suspected of acting as a spy. It is only by chance that\nnow and again we get a glimpse of the backwaters of a great flood such\nas that which was now devastating the land of Judah; most of the\ndreary scene is shrouded in gloom.\n\nLastly, we must not fail to remember, in reading these expressions of\npatriotic and personal grief, that they are the outpourings of the\nheart of the poet before God. They are all addressed to God's ear;\nthey are all part of a prayer. Thus they illustrate the way in which\nprayer takes the form of confiding in God. It is a great relief to be\nable simply to tell Him everything. Perhaps, however, here we may\ndetect a note of complaint; but if so it is not a note of rebellion or\nof unbelief. Although the evils from which the elegist and his people\nare suffering so grievously are attributed to God in the most\nuncompromising manner, the writer does not hesitate to look to God for\ndeliverance. Thus in the very midst of his lamentations he says that\nhis weeping is to continue \"till the Lord look down, and behold from\nheaven.\"[222] He will not cease weeping until this happens; but he\ndoes not expect to have to spend all the remainder of his days in\ntears. He is assured that God will hear, and answer, and deliver. The\ntime of the Divine response is quite unknown to him; it may be still\nfar off, and there may be much weary waiting to be endured first. But\nit will come, and if no one can tell how long the interval of trial\nmay be, so also no one can say but that the deliverance may arrive\nsuddenly and with a surprise of mercy. Thus the poet weeps on, but in\nundying hope.\n\n  [222] iii. 50.\n\nThis is the right attitude of the Christian mourner. We cannot\npenetrate the mystery of God's times; but that they are in His own\nhands is not to be denied. Therefore the test of faith is often given\nin the necessity for indefinite waiting. To the man who trusts God\nthere is always a future. Whatever such a man may have to endure he\nshould find a place in his plaint for the word \"until.\" He is not\nplunged into everlasting night. He has but to endure until the day\ndawn.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\n_DE PROFUNDIS_\n\niii. 55-66\n\n\nAs this third elegy--the richest and the most elaborate of the five\nthat constitute the Book of Lamentations--draws to a close it retains\nits curious character of variability, not aiming at any climax, but\nsimply winding on till its threefold acrostics are completed by the\nlimits of the Hebrew alphabet, like a river that is monotonous in the\nvery succession of its changes, now flowing through a dark gorge, then\nrippling in clear sunlight, and again plunging into gloomy caverns.\nThe beauty and brightness of this very variegated poem is found at its\ncentre. Sadder thoughts follow. But these are not so wholly\ncomplaining as the opening passages had been. There is one thread of\ncontinuity that may be traced right through the series of changes\nwhich occupy the latter part of the poem. The poet having once turned\nto the refuge of prayer never altogether forsakes it. The meditations\nas much as the petitions that here occur are all directed to God.\n\nA peculiarity of the last portion of the elegy that claims special\nattention is the interesting reminiscence with which the poet finds\nencouragement for his present prayers. He is recalling the scenes of\nthat most distressing period of his life, the time when he had been\ncast into a flooded dungeon. If ever he had come near to death it must\nhave been then; though his life was spared the misery of his condition\nhad been extreme. While in this most wretched situation the persecuted\npatriot cried to God for help, and as he now recollects for his\npresent encouragement, he received a distinct and unmistakable answer.\nThe scene is most impressive. As it shapes itself to his memory, the\nvictim of tyranny is in _the lowest dungeon_. This phrase suggests the\nthought of the awful Hebrew Sheol. So dark was his experience, and so\nnear was the sufferer to death, it seems to him as though he had been\nindeed plunged down into the very abode of the dead. Yet here he found\nutterance for prayer. It was the prayer of utter extremity, almost the\nlast wild cry of a despairing soul, yet not quite, for that is no\nprayer at all, all prayer requiring some real faith, if only as a\ngrain of mustard seed. Moreover, the poet states that he called upon\nthe _name_ of God. Now in the Bible the name always stands for the\nattributes which it connotes. To call on God's name is to make mention\nof some of His known and revealed characteristics. The man who will do\nthis is more than one \"feeling after God;\" he has a definite\nconception of the nature and disposition of the Being to whom he is\naddressing himself. Thus it happens that old, familiar ideas of God,\nas He had been known in the days of light and joy, rise up in the\nheart of the miserable man, and awaken a longing desire to seek the\nhelp of One so great and good and merciful. Just in proportion to the\nfulness of the meaning of the name of God as it is conceived by us,\nwill our prayers win definiteness of aim and strength of wing. The\naltar to \"an unknown god\" can excite but the feeblest and vaguest\ndevotion. Inasmuch as our Lord has greatly enriched the contents of\nthe name of God by His full revelation of the Divine Father, to us\nChristians there has come a more definite direction and a more\npowerful impulse for prayer. Even though this is a prayer _de\nprofundis_ it is an enlightened prayer. We may believe that, like a\nstar seen from the depths of a well which excludes the glare of day,\nthe significance of the sacred Name shone out to the sufferer with a\nbeauty never before perceived when he looked up to heaven from the\ndarkness of his pit of misery.\n\nIt has been suggested that in this passage the elegist is following\nthe sixty-ninth psalm, and that perhaps that psalm is his own\ncomposition and the expression of the very prayer to which he is here\nreferring. At all events, the psalm exactly fits the situation; and\ntherefore it may be taken as a perfect illustration of the kind of\nprayer alluded to. The psalmist is \"in deep mire, where there is no\nstanding;\" he has \"come into deep waters, where the floods overthrow\"\nhim; he is persecuted by enemies who hate him \"without a cause;\" he\nhas been weeping till his eyes have failed. Meanwhile he has been\nwaiting for God, in prayers mingled with confessions. It is his zeal\nfor God's house that has brought him so near to death. He beseeches\nGod that the flood may not be allowed to overwhelm him, nor \"the pit\nshut her mouth upon him.\" He concludes with an invocation of curses\nupon the heads of his enemies. All these as well as some minor points\nagree very closely with our poet's picture of his persecutions and the\nprayer he here records.\n\nRead in the light of the elegist's experience, such a prayer as that\nof the psalm cannot be taken as a model for daily devotion. It is a\npity that our habitual use of the Psalter should encourage this\napplication of it. The result is mischievous in several ways. It tends\nto make our worship unreal, because the experience of the psalmist,\neven when read metaphorically, as it was probably intended to be read,\nis by no means a type of the normal condition of human life. Besides,\nin so far as we bring ourselves to sympathise with this piteous outcry\nof a distressed soul, we reduce our worship to a melancholy plaint,\nwhen it should be a joyous anthem of praise. At the same time, we\nunconsciously temper the language we quote with the less painful\nfeelings of our own experience, so that its force is lost upon us.\n\nYet the psalm is of value as a revelation of a soul's agony relieved\nby prayer; and there are occasions when its very words can be repeated\nby men and women who are indeed overwhelmed by trouble. If we do not\nspoil the occasional by attempting to make it habitual it is wonderful\nto see how rich the Bible is in utterances to suit all cases and all\nconditions. Such an outpouring of a distressed heart as the elegist\nhints at and the psalmist illustrates, is itself full of profound\nsignificance. The stirring of a soul to its depths is a revelation of\nits depths. This revelation prevents us from taking petty views of\nhuman nature. No one can contemplate the Titanic struggle of Laocoon\nor the immeasurable grief of Niobe without a sense of the tragic\ngreatness of which human life is capable. We live so much on the\nsurface that we are in danger of forgetting that life is not always a\nsuperficial thing. But when a volcano bursts out of the quiet plain of\neveryday existence, we are startled into the perception that there\nmust be hidden fires which we may not have suspected before. And,\nfurther, when the soul in its extremity is seen to be turning for\nrefuge to God, the revelation of its Gethsemane gives a new meaning to\nthe very idea of prayer. Here is prayer indeed, and at the sight of\nsuch a profound reality we are shamed into doubting whether we have\never begun to pray at all, so stiff and chill do our utterances to the\nUnseen now appear to be in comparison with this Jacob-like wrestling.\n\nImmediately after mentioning the fact of his prayer the elegist adds\nthat this was heard by God. His cry rose up from \"the lowest dungeon\"\nand reached the heights of heaven. And yet we cannot credit this to\nthe inherent vigour of prayer. If a petition can thus wing its way to\nheaven, that is because it is of heavenly origin. There is no\ndifficulty in making air to rise above water; the difficulty is to\nsink it; and if any could be taken to the bottom of the sea, the\ngreater the depth descended the swifter would it shoot up. Since all\ntrue prayer is an inspiration it cannot spend itself until it has, so\nto speak, restored the equilibrium by returning to its natural sphere.\nBut the elegist puts the case another way. In His great condescension\nGod stoops to the very lowest depths to find one of His distressed\nchildren. It is not hard to make the prayer of the dungeon reach the\near of God, because God is in the dungeon. He is most near when He is\nmost needed.\n\nThe prayer was more than heard; it was answered--there was a Divine\nvoice in response to this cry to God, a voice that reached the ear of\nthe desolate prisoner in the silence of his dungeon. It consisted of\nbut two words, but those two words were clear and unmistakable, and\nquite sufficient to satisfy the listener. The voice said, \"Fear\nnot.\"[223] That was enough.\n\n  [223] iii. 57.\n\nShall we doubt the reality of the remarkable experience that the\nelegist here records? Or can we explain it away by reference to the\nmorbid condition of the mind of a prisoner enduring the punishment of\nsolitary confinement? It is said that this unnatural punishment tends\nto develop insanity in its miserable victims. But the poet is now\nreviewing the occurrence, which made so deep an impression on his mind\nat the time, in the calm of later reflection; and evidently he has no\ndoubt of its reality. It has nothing in it of the wild fancy of a\ndisordered brain. Lunacy raves; this simple message is calm. And it is\njust such a message as God might be expected to give if He spoke at\nall--just like Him, we may say. To this remark some doubting critic\nmay reply, \"Exactly; and therefore the more likely to have been\nimagined by the expectant worshipper.\" But such an inference is not\npsychologically correct. The reply is not in harmony with the tone of\nthe prayer, but directly opposed to it. Agony and terror cannot\ngenerate an assurance of peace and safety. The poison does not secrete\nits own antidote. Here is an indication of the presence of another\nvoice, because the words breathe another spirit. Besides, this is not\nan unparalleled experience.\n\nMost frequently, no doubt, the answer to prayer is not vocal, and yet\nthe reality of it may not be any the less certain to the seeking soul.\nIt may be most definite, although it comes in a deed rather than in a\nword. Then the grateful recipient can exclaim with the psalmist--\n\n  \"This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him,\n  And saved him out of all his troubles.\"[224]\n\n  [224] Psalm xxxiv. 6.\n\nHere is an answer, but not a spoken one, only an action, in saving\nfrom trouble. In other cases, however, the reply approaches nearer the\nform of a message from heaven. When we remember that God is our Father\nthe wonder is not that at rare intervals these voices have been heard,\nbut rather that they are so infrequent. It is so easy to become the\nvictim of delusions that some caution is requisite to assure ourselves\nof the existence of Divine utterances. The very idea of the occurrence\nof such phenomena is discredited by the fact that those persons who\nprofess most eagerly to have heard supernatural voices are commonly\nthe subjects of hysteria; and when the voices become frequent this\nfact is taken by physicians as a symptom of approaching insanity.\nAmong semi-civilised people madness is supposed to be closely allied\nto inspiration. The mantis is not far from the mad man. Such a man is\nnot the better off for the march of civilisation. The ancients would\nhave honoured him as a prophet; we shut him up in a lunatic asylum.\nBut these discouraging considerations do not exhaust the question.\nDelusions are not in themselves disproofs of the existence of the\noccurrences they emulate. Each case must be taken on its own merits;\nand when, as in that which is now under our consideration, the\ncharacter of the incident points to a conviction of its solid reality,\nit is only a mark of narrowness of thought to refuse to lift it out of\nthe category of idle fancies.\n\nBut, quite apart from the question of the sounding of Divine voices in\nthe bodily ear, the more important truth to be considered is that in\nsome way, if only by spiritual impression, God does most really speak\nto His children, and that He speaks now as surely as He spoke in the\ndays of Israel. We have no new prophets and apostles who can give us\nfresh revelations in the form of additions to our Bible. But that is\nnot what is meant. The elegist did not receive a statement of doctrine\nin answer to his prayer, nor, on this occasion, even help for the\nwriting of his inspired poetry. The voice to which he here alludes was\nof quite a different character.\n\nThis was in the olden times; but if then, why not also now? Evidently\nthe elegist regarded it as a rare and wonderful occurrence--a single\nexperience to which he looked back in after years with the interest\none feels in a vivid recollection which rises like a mountain, clean\ncut against the sky, above the mists that so quickly gather on the low\nplains of the uneventful past. Perhaps it is only in one of the crises\nof life that such an indubitable message is sent--when the soul is in\nthe lowest dungeon, _in extremis_, crying out of the darkness,\nhelpless if not yet hopeless, overwhelmed, almost extinguished. But if\nwe listened for it, who can tell but that the voice might not be so\nrare? We do not believe in it; therefore we do not hear it. Or the\nnoise of the world's great loom and the busy thoughts of our own\nhearts drown the music that still floats down from heaven to ears that\nare tuned to catch its notes; for it does not come in thunder, and we\nmust ourselves be still if we would hear the still small voice,\ninwardly still, still in soul, stifling the chatter of self, stopping\nour ears to the din of the world. There are those to-day who tell us\nwith calm assurance, not at all in the visionary's falsetto notes,\nthat they have known just what is here described by the poet--in the\nsilence of a mountain valley, in the quiet of a sick chamber, even in\nthe noisy crowd at a railway station.\n\nWhen this is granted it is still well for us to remember that we are\nnot dependent for Divine consolation on voices which to many must ever\nbe as dubious as they are rare. This short message of two words is in\neffect the essence of teachings that can be gathered as freely from\nalmost every page of the Bible as flowers from a meadow in May. We\nhave the \"more sure word of prophecy,\" and the burden of it is the\nsame as the message of the voice that comforted the poet in his\ndungeon.\n\nThat message is wholly reassuring--\"Fear not.\" So said God to the\npatriarch: \"Fear not, Abram; I am thy shield, and thy exceeding great\nreward;\"[225] and to His people through the prophet of the\nrestoration: \"Fear not, thou worm Jacob;\"[226] and Jesus to His\ndisciples in the storm: \"Be of good cheer: it is I: be not\nafraid\";[227] and our Lord again in His parting address: \"Let not your\nheart be troubled, neither let it be fearful\";[228] and the glorified\nChrist to His terrified friend John, when He laid His right hand on\nhim with the words: \"Fear not; I am the first and the last, and the\nLiving One; and I was dead, and behold, I am alive for ever more, and\nI have the keys of death and of Hades.\"[229] This is the word that God\nis continually speaking to His faint-hearted children. When \"the\nburthen of the mystery,\" and\n\n          \"the heavy and the weary weight\n  Of all this unintelligible world\"\n\noppress, when the greater sorrows threaten to crush outright,\nlistening for the voice of God, we may hear the message of love from a\nFather's heart as though spoken afresh to each of us; for we have but\nto acquaint ourselves with Him to be at peace.\n\n  [225] Gen. xv. 1.\n\n  [226] Isa. xli. 14.\n\n  [227] Mark vi. 50.\n\n  [228] John xiv. 27.\n\n  [229] Rev. i. 17, 18.\n\nThe elegist does not recall this scene from his past life merely in\norder to indulge in the pleasures of memory--generally rather\nmelancholy pleasures, and even mocking if they are in sharp contrast\nto the present. His object is to find encouragement for renewed hope\nin the efficacy of prayer. In the complaint that he has put into the\nmouth of His people He has just been depicting the failure of prayer.\nBut now he feels that if for a time God has wrapped Himself in a\nmantle of wrath this cannot be for ever, for He who was so gracious to\nthe cry of His servant on that ever-memorable occasion will surely\nattend again to the appeal of distress. This is always the greatest\nencouragement for seeking help from God. It is difficult to find much\nsatisfaction in what is called with an awkward inconsequence of\ndiction the \"philosophy of prayer\"; the spirit of philosophy is so\nwholly different from the spirit of prayer. The great justification\nfor prayer is the experience of prayer. It is only the prayerless man\nwho is wholly sceptical on this subject. The man of prayer cannot but\nbelieve in prayer; and the more he prays and the oftener he turns to\nthis refuge in all times of need the fuller is his assurance that God\nhears and answers him.\n\nConsidering how God acted as his advocate when he was in danger in the\nearlier crisis, and then redeemed his life, the poet points to this\nfact as a plea in his new necessity.[230] God will not desert the\ncause He has adopted. Men feel a peculiar interest in those whom they\nhave already helped, an interest that is stronger than the sense of\ngratitude, for we are more attracted to our dependants than to our\nbenefactors. If God shares this feeling, how strongly must He be drawn\nto us by His many former favours! The language of the elegist gains a\ngreat enrichment of meaning when read in the light of the Christian\nGospel. In a deep sense, of which he could have had but the least\nglimmering of apprehension, we can appeal to God as the Redeemer of\nour life, for we can take the Cross of Christ as our plea. St. Paul\nmakes use of this strongest of all arguments when He urges that if God\ngave His Son, and if Christ died for us, all other needful blessings,\nsince they cannot involve so great a sacrifice, will surely follow.\nAccordingly, we can pray in the language of the _Dies Irae_--\n\n  \"Wearily for me Thou soughtest,\n  On the Cross my life Thou boughtest,\n  Lose not all for which Thou wroughtest.\"\n\n  [230] iii. 58.\n\nRising from the image of the advocate to that of the magistrate the\ndistressed man begs God to judge his cause.[231] He would have God\nlook at his enemies--how they wrong him, insult him, make him the\ntheme of their jesting songs.[232]\n\n  [231] iii. 59.\n\n  [232] iii. 60-3.\n\nIt would have been more to our taste if the poem had ended here, if\nthere had been no remaining letters in the Hebrew alphabet to permit\nthe extension of the acrostics beyond the point we have now reached.\nWe cannot but feel that its tone is lowered at the close. The writer\nhere proceeds to heap imprecations on the heads of his enemies. It is\nvain for some commentator to plead the weak excuse that the language\nis \"prophetic.\" This is certainly more than the utterance of a\nprediction. No unprejudiced reader can deny that it reveals a desire\nthat the oppressors may be blighted and blasted with ruin, and even if\nthe words were only a foretelling of a divinely-decreed fate they\nwould imply a keen sense of satisfaction in the prospect, which they\ndescribe as something to be gloated over. We cannot expect this Jewish\npatriot to anticipate our Lord's intercession and excuse for His\nenemies. Even St. Paul so far forgot himself as to treat the High\nPriest in a very different manner from his Master's behaviour. But we\nmay see here one of the worst effects of tyranny--the dark passion of\nrevenge that it rouses in its victims. The provocation was maddening,\nand not only of a private nature. Think of the situation--the beloved\ncity sacked and destroyed, the sacred temple a heap of smouldering\nruins, village homesteads all over the hills of Judah wrecked and\ndeserted; slaughter, outrage, unspeakable wrongs endured by wives and\nmaidens, little children starved to death. Is it wonderful that the\npatriot's temper was not the sweetest when he thought of the authors\nof such atrocities? There is no possibility of denying the fact--the\nfierce fires of Hebrew hatred for the oppressors of the much-suffering\nrace here burst into a flame, and towards the end of this finest of\nelegies we read the dark imprecation, \"Thy curse upon them!\"[233]\n\n  [233] iii. 65.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\n_CONTRASTS_\n\niv. 1-12\n\n\nIN form the fourth elegy is slightly different from each of its\npredecessors. Following the characteristic plan of the Book of\nLamentations, it is an acrostic of twenty-two verses arranged in the\norder of the Hebrew alphabet. In it we meet with the same curious\ntransposition of two letters that is found in the second and third\nelegies; it has also the peculiar metre of Hebrew elegiac poetry--the\nvery lengthy line, broken into two unequal parts. But, like the first\nand second, it differs from the third elegy, which repeats the\nacrostic letters in three successive lines, in only using each\nacrostic once--at the beginning of a fresh verse; and it differs from\nall the three first elegies, which are arranged in triplets, in having\nonly two lines in each verse.\n\nThis poem is very artistically constructed in the balancing of its\nideas and phrases. The opening section of it, from the beginning to\nthe twelfth verse, consists of a pair of duplicate passages--the first\nfrom verse one to verse six, the second from verse seven to verse\neleven, the twelfth verse bringing this part of the poem to a close by\nadding a reflection on the common subject of the twin passages. Thus\nthe parallelism which we usually meet with in individual verses is\nhere extended to two series of verses, we might perhaps say, two\n_stanzas_, except that there is no such formal division.\n\nIn each of these elaborately-wrought sections the elegist brings out a\nrich array of similes to enforce the tremendous contrast between the\noriginal condition of the people of Jerusalem and their subsequent\nwretchedness. The details of the two descriptions follow closely\nparallel lines, with sufficient diversity, both in idea and in\nillustration, though chiefly in illustration, to avoid tautology and\nto serve to heighten the general effect by mutual comparisons. Both\npassages open with images of beautiful and costly natural objects to\nwhich the _elite_ of Jerusalem are compared. Next comes the violent\ncontrast of their state after the overthrow of the city. Then turning\naside to more distant scenes, each of which is more or less\nrepellent--the lair of wild beasts in the first case, in the second\nthe battle-field--the poet describes the much more degraded and\nmiserable condition of his people. Both passages direct especial\nattention to the fate of children--the first to their starvation, the\nsecond to a perfectly ghastly scene. At this point in each part the\nprevious daintiness of the upbringing of the more refined classes is\ncontrasted with the condition of degradation worse than that of\nsavages to which they have been reduced. Each passage concludes with a\nreference to those deeper facts of the case which make it a sign of\nthe wrath of heaven against exceptionally guilty sinners.\n\nThe elegist begins with an evident allusion to the consequences of the\nburning of the temple, which we learn from the history was effected by\nthe Babylonian general Nebuzar-adan.[234] The costly splendour with\nwhich this temple at Jerusalem was decorated allowed of a rare glitter\nof gold, such as Josephus describes when writing of the later temple;\ngold not like that of the domes of St. Mark's, mellowed by the climate\nof Venice to a sober depth of hue, but all ablaze with dazzling\nradiance. The first effect of the smoke of a great conflagration would\nbe to cloud and soil this somewhat raw magnificence, so that the\nchoice gold became dull. That the precious stones stolen from the\ntemple treasury would be flung carelessly about the streets, as our\nAuthorised Version would seem to suggest, is not to be supposed in the\ncase of the sack of a city by a civilised army, whatever might happen\nif a Vandal host swept through it. \"The stones of the sanctuary,\"[235]\nhowever, might be the stones with which the building had been\nconstructed. Still, even with this interpretation the statement seems\nvery improbable that the invaders would take the trouble to cart these\nhuge blocks about the city in order to distribute them in heaps at all\nthe street corners. We are driven to the conclusion that the poet is\nspeaking metaphorically, that he is meaning the Jews themselves, or\nperhaps the more favoured classes, \"the noble sons of Zion\" of whom he\nwrites openly in the next verse.[236] This interpretation is confirmed\nwhen we consider the comparison with the parallel passage, which\nstarts at once with a reference to the \"princes.\"[237] It seems likely\nthen that the gold that has been so sullied also represents the\nchoicer part of the people. The writer deplores the destruction of his\nbeloved sanctuary, and the image of that calamity is in his mind at\nthe present time; and yet it is not this that he is most deeply\nlamenting. He is more concerned with the fate of his people. The\npatriot loves the very soil of his native land, the loyal citizen the\nvery streets and stones of his city. But if such a man is more than a\ndreamer or a sentimentalist, flesh and blood must mean infinitely more\nto him than earth and stones. The ruin of a city is something else\nthan the destruction of its buildings; an earthquake or a fire may\neffect this, and yet, like Chicago, the city may rise again in greater\nsplendour. The ruin that is most deplorable is the ruin of human\nlives.\n\n  [234] 2 Kings xxv. 9.\n\n  [235] iv. 1.\n\n  [236] iv. 2.\n\n  [237] iv. 7.\n\nThis somewhat aristocratic poet, the mouthpiece of an aristocratic\nage, compares the sons of the Jewish nobility to purest gold. Yet he\ntells us that they are treated as common earthen vessels, perhaps\nmeaning in contrast to the vessels of precious metal used in the\npalaces of the great. They are regarded as of no more value than\npotter's work, though formerly they had been prized as the dainty art\nof a goldsmith. This first statement only treats of insult and\nhumiliation. But the evil is worse. The jackals that he knows must be\nprowling about the deserted ruins of Jerusalem even while he writes\nsuggests a strange, wild image to the poet's mind.[238] These fierce\ncreatures suckle their young, though not in the tame manner of\ndomestic animals. It is singular that the nurture of princes amid the\nrefinements of wealth and luxury should be compared to the feeding of\ntheir cubs by scavengers of the wilderness. But our thoughts are thus\ndirected to the wide extent, the universal exercise of maternal\ninstincts throughout the animal world, even among the most savage and\nhomeless creatures. Startling indeed is it to think that such\ninstincts should ever fail among men, or even that circumstances\nshould ever hinder the natural performance of the functions to which\nthey point with imperious urgency. Although the second passage tells\nof the violent reversal of the natural feelings of maternity under the\nmaddening influence of famine, here we read how starvation has simply\nstopped the tender ministry which mothers render to their infants,\nwith a vague hint at some cruelty on the part of the Jewish mothers. A\ncomparison with the supposed conduct of ostriches in leaving their\neggs suggests that this is negative cruelty; their hearts being frozen\nwith agony, the wretched mothers lose all interest in their children.\nBut then there is not food for them. The calamities of the times have\nstaunched the mother's milk; and there is no bread for the older\nchildren.[239] It is the extreme reversal of their fortunes that makes\nthe misery of the children of princely homes most acute; even those\nwho do not suffer the pangs of hunger are flung down to the lowest\ndepths of wretchedness. The members of the aristocracy have been\naccustomed to live luxuriously; now they wander about the streets\ndevouring whatever they can pick up. In the old days of luxury they\nused to recline on scarlet couches; now they have no better bed than\nthe filthy dunghill.[240]\n\n  [238] iv. 3.\n\n  [239] iv. 4.\n\n  [240] iv. 5.\n\nThe passage concludes with a reflection on the general character of\nthis dreadful condition of Israel.[241] It must be closely connected\nwith the sins of the people. The drift of the context would lead us to\njudge that the poet does not mean to compare the guilt of Jerusalem\nwith that of Sodom, but rather the fate of the two cities. The\npunishment of Israel is greater than that of Sodom. But this is\npunishment; and the odious comparison would not be made unless the sin\nhad been of the blackest dye. Thus in this elegy the calamities of\nJerusalem are again traced back to the ill-doings of her people. The\nawful fate of the cities of the plain stands out in the ancient\nnarrative as the exceptional punishment of exceptional wickedness. But\nnow in the race for a first place in the history of doom Jerusalem has\nbroken the record. Even Sodom has been eclipsed in the headlong course\nby the city once most favoured by heaven. It seems well nigh\nimpossible. What could be worse than total destruction by fire from\nheaven? The elegist considers that there are two points in the fate of\nJerusalem that confer a gloomy pre-eminence in misery. The doom of\nSodom was sudden, and man had no hand in it but Jerusalem fell into\nthe hands of man--a calamity which David judged to be worse than\nfalling into the hands of God; and she had to endure a long, lingering\nagony.\n\n  [241] iv. 6.\n\nPassing on to the consideration of the parallel section, we see that\nthe author follows the same lines, though with considerable freshness\nof treatment. Still directing especial attention to the tremendous\nchange in the fortunes of the aristocracy, he begins again by\ndescribing the splendour of their earlier state. This had been\nadvertised to all eyes by the very complexion of their countenances.\nUnlike the toilers who were necessarily bronzed by working under a\nsouthern sun, these delicately nurtured persons had been able to\npreserve fair skins in the shady seclusion of their cool palaces, so\nthat in the hyperbole of the poem they could be described as \"purer\nthan snow\" and \"whiter than milk.\"[242] Yet they had no sickly\npallor. Their health had been well attended to; so that they were also\nruddy as \"corals,\" while their dark hair[243] glistened \"like\nsapphires.\" But now see them! Their faces are \"darker than\nblackness.\"[244] We need not enquire after a literal explanation of an\nexpression which is in harmony with the extravagance of Oriental\nlanguage, although doubtless exposure to the weather, and the grime\nand smoke of the scenes these children of luxury had passed through,\nmust have had a considerable effect on their effeminate countenances.\nThe language here is evidently figurative. So it is throughout the\npassage. The whole aspect of the lives and fortunes of these\ndelicately nurtured lordlings has been reversed. They tell their story\nby the gloom of their countenances and by the shrivelled appearance of\ntheir bodies. They can no longer be recognised in the streets, so\npiteous a change has their misfortunes wrought in them. Withered and\nwizen, they are reduced to skin and bone by sheer famine. Sufferers\nfrom such continuous calamities as these fallen princes are passing\nthrough are treated to a worse fate than that which overtook their\nbrethren who fell in the war. The sword is better than hunger. The\nvictims of war, stricken down in the heat of battle but in the midst\nof plenty, so that they leave the fruits of the field behind them\nuntouched because no longer needed,[245] are to be counted happy in\nbeing taken from the evil to come.\n\n  [242] iv. 7.\n\n  [243] iv. 7. \"Hair,\" According to a slight emendation of the text\nrecommended by recent criticism.\n\n  [244] iv. 8.\n\n  [245] So perhaps we should understand ver. 9, applying the last clause\nto the fallen warriors. In the Revised Version, however, rendered so\nas to refer to the famished people who pine away for lack of the\nfruits of the earth. Yet another rendering is \"fade away ... like the\ngrowth of the fields.\"\n\nThe gruesome horror of the next scene is beyond description.[246] More\nthan once history has had to record the absolute extinction, nay, we\nmust say the insane reversal, of maternal instincts under the\ninfluence of hunger. We could not believe it possible if we did not\nknow that it had occurred. It is a degradation of what we hold to be\nmost sacred in human nature; perhaps it is only possible where human\nnature has been degraded already, for we must not forget that in the\npresent case the women who are driven below the level of she-wolves\nare not children of nature, but the daughters of an effete\ncivilisation who have been nursed in the lap of luxury. This is the\nclimax. Imagination itself could scarcely go further. And yet\naccording to his custom throughout, the elegist attributes these\ncalamities of his people to the anger of God. Such things seem to\nindicate a very \"fury\" of Divine wrath; the anger must be fierce\nindeed to kindle such \"a fire in Zion.\"[247] But now the very\nfoundations of the city are destroyed even that terrible thirst for\nretribution must be satisfied.\n\n  [246] iv. 10.\n\n  [247] iv. 11.\n\nThese are thoughts which we as Christians do not care to entertain;\nand yet it is in the New Testament that we read that \"our God is a\nconsuming fire;\"[248] and it is of our Lord that John the Baptist\ndeclares: \"He will throughly purge His threshing-floor.\"[249] If God\nis angry at all His anger cannot be light; for no action of His is\nfeeble or ineffectual. The subsequent restoration of Israel shows that\nthe fires to which the elegist here calls our attention were\npurgatorial. This fact must profoundly affect our view of their\ncharacter. Still they are very real, or the Book of Lamentations would\nnot have been written.\n\n  [248] Heb. xii. 29.\n\n  [249] Matt. iii. 12.\n\nIn view of the whole situation so graphically portrayed by means of\nthe double line of illustrations the poet concludes this part of his\nelegy with a device that reminds us of the function of the chorus in\nthe Greek drama. We see the kings of all other nations in amazement at\nthe fate of Jerusalem.[250] The mountain city had the reputation of\nbeing an impregnable fortress, at least so her fond citizens imagined.\nBut now she has fallen. It is incredible! The news of this wholly\nunexpected disaster is supposed to send a shock through foreign\ncourts. We are reminded of the blow that stunned St. Jerome when a\nrumour of the fall of Rome reached the studious monk in his quiet\nretreat at Bethlehem. Men can tell that a severe storm has been raging\nout in the Atlantic if they see unusually great rollers breaking on\nthe Cornish crags. How huge a calamity must that be the mere echo of\nwhich can produce a startling effect in far countries! But could these\nkings really be so astonished seeing that Jerusalem had been captured\ntwice before? The poet's language rather points to the overweening\npride and confidence of the Jews, and it shows how great the shock to\nthem must have been since they could not but regard it as a wonder to\nthe world. Such then is the picture drawn by our poet with the aid of\nthe utmost artistic skill in bringing out its striking effects. Now\nbefore we turn away from it let us ask ourselves wherein its true\nsignificance may be said to be. This is a study in black and white.\nThe very language is such; and when we come to consider the lessons\nthat language sets forth with so much sharpness and vigour, we shall\nsee that they too partake of the same character.\n\n  [250] iv. 12.\n\nThe force of contrasts--that is the first and most obvious\ncharacteristic of the scene. We are very familiar with the heightening\nof effects by this means, and it is needless to repeat the trite\nlessons that have been derived from the application of it to life. We\nknow that none suffer so keenly from adversity as those who were once\nvery prosperous. Marius in the Mamertine dungeon, Napoleon at St.\nHelena, Nebuchadnezzar among the beasts, Dives in Hell, are but\nnotorious illustrations of what we may all see on the smaller canvas\nof every-day life. Great as are the hardships of the children of the\n\"slums,\" it is not to them, but to the unhappy victims of a violent\nchange of circumstances, that the burden of poverty is most heavy. We\nhave seen this principle illustrated repeatedly in the Book of\nLamentations. But now may we not go behind it, and lay hold of\nsomething more than an indubitable psychological law? While looking\nonly at the reversals of fortune which may be witnessed on every hand,\nwe are tempted to hold life to be little better than a gambling bout\nwith high stakes and desperate play. Further consideration, however,\nshould teach us that the stakes are not so high as they appear; that\nis to say, that the chances of the world do not so profoundly affect\nour fate as surface views would lead us to suppose. Such things as the\npursuit of mere sensation, the life of external aims, the surrender to\nthe excitement of the moment, are doubtless subject to the\nvicissitudes of contrast; but it is the teaching of our Lord that the\nhigher pursuits are free from these evils. If the treasure is in\nheaven no thief can steal it, no moth or rust can corrupt it; and\ntherefore since where the treasure is there will the heart be also, it\nis possible to keep the heart in peace even among the changes that\nupset a purely superficial life with earthquake shocks. Sincere as is\nthe lament of the elegist over the fate of his people, a subtle thread\nof irony seems to run through his language. Possibly it is quite\nunconscious; but if so it is the more significant, for it is the irony\nof fact which cannot be excluded by the simplest method of statement.\nIt suggests that the grandeur which could be so easily turned to\nhumiliation must have been somewhat tawdry at best.\n\nBut unhappily the fall of the pampered youth of Jerusalem was not\nconfined to a reversal of external fortune. The elegist has been\ncareful to point out that the miseries they endured were the\npunishments of their sins. Then there had been an earlier and much\ngreater collapse. Before any foreign enemy had appeared at her gates\nthe city had succumbed to a fatal foe bred within her own walls.\nLuxury had undermined the vigour of the wealthy; vice had blackened\nthe beauty of the young. There is a fine gold of character which will\nbe sullied beyond recognition when the foul vapours of the pit are\npermitted to break out upon it. The magnificence of Solomon's temple\nis poor and superficial in comparison with the beauty of young souls\nendowed with intellectual and moral gifts, like jewels of rarest\nworth. Man is not treated in the Bible as a paltry creature. Was he\nnot made in the image of God? Jesus would not have us despise our own\nnative worth. Hope and faith come from a lofty view of human nature\nand its possibilities. Souls are not swine; and therefore by all the\nmeasure of their superiority to swine souls are worth saving. The\nshame and sorrow of sin lie just in this fact, that it is so foul a\ndegradation of so fair a thing as human nature. Here is the contrast\nthat heightens the tragedy of lost souls. But then we may add, in its\nreversal this same contrast magnifies the glory of redemption--from so\ndeep a pit does Christ bring back His ransomed, to so great a height\ndoes He raise them!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\n_LEPERS_\n\niv. 13-16\n\n\nPassing from the fate of the princes to that of the prophets and\npriests, we come upon a vividly dramatic scene in the streets of\nJerusalem amid the terror and confusion that precede the final act of\nthe national tragedy. The doom of the city is attributed to the crimes\nof her religious leaders, whose true characters are now laid bare. The\ncitizens shrink from the guilty men with the loathing felt for lepers,\nand shriek to them to depart, calling them unclean, and warning them\nnot to touch any one by the way, because there is blood upon them.\nDreading the awful treatment measured out to the victims of lynch-law,\nthey stagger through the streets in a state of bewilderment, and\nstumble like blind men. Fugitives and vagabonds, with the mark of Cain\nupon them, driven out at the gates by the impatient mob, they can find\nno refuge even in foreign lands, for none of the nations will receive\nthem.\n\nWe do not know whether the poet is here describing actual events, or\nwhether this is an imaginary picture designed to express his own\nfeelings with regard to the persons concerned. The situation is\nperfectly natural, and what is narrated may very well have happened\njust as it is described. But if it is not history it is still a\nrevelation of character, a representation of what the writer knows to\nbe the conduct of the moral lepers, and their deserts; and as such it\nis most suggestive.\n\nIn the first place there is much significance in the fact that the\noverthrow of Jerusalem is unhesitatingly charged to the account of the\nsins of her prophets and priests. These once venerated men are not\nmerely no longer protected by the sanctity of their offices from the\naccusations that are brought against the laity; they are singled out\nfor a charge of exceptionally heinous wickedness which is regarded as\nthe root cause of all the troubles that have fallen upon the Jews. The\nsecond elegy had affirmed the failure of the prophets and the vanity\nof their visions.[251] This new and stronger accusation reads like a\nreminiscence of Jeremiah, who repeatedly speaks of the sins of the\nclerical class and the mischief resulting therefrom.[252] Evidently\nthe terrible truth the prophet dwelt upon so much was felt by a\ndisciple of his school to be of the most serious consequence.\n\n  [251] ii. 9, 14.\n\n  [252] Jer. vi. 13; viii. 10; xxiii. 11, 14; xxvi. 7 ff.\n\nThe accusation is of the very gravest character. These religious\nleaders are charged with murder. If the elegist is recording\nhistorical occurrences he may be alluding to riots in which the feuds\nof rival factions had issued in bloodshed; or he may have had\ninformation of private acts of assassination. His language points to a\ncondition in Jerusalem similar to that which was found in Rome at the\nFifteenth Century, when popes and cardinals were the greatest\ncriminals. The crimes were aggravated by the fact that the victims\nselected were the \"righteous,\" perhaps men of the Jeremiah party, who\nhad been persecuted by the officials of the State religion. But quite\napart from these dark and tragic events, the record of which has not\nbeen preserved, if the wicked policy of their clergy had brought down\non the heads of the citizens of Jerusalem the mass of calamities that\naccompanied the siege of the city by the Babylonians, this policy was\nin itself a cause of great bloodshed. The men who invited the ruin of\ntheir city were in reality the murderers of all who perished in that\ncalamity. We know from Jeremiah's statements on the subject that the\nfalse, time-serving, popular prophets were deceivers of the people,\nwho allayed alarm by means of lies, saying \"peace, peace; when there\nwas no peace.\"[253] When the deception was discovered their angry\ndupes would naturally hold them responsible for the results of their\nwickedness.\n\n  [253] Jer. vi. 14; viii. 11.\n\nThe sin of these religious leaders of Israel consists essentially in\nbetraying a sacred trust. The priest is in charge of the\n_Torah_--traditional or written; he must have been unfaithful to his\nlaw or he could not have led his people astray. If the prophet's\nclaims are valid this man is the messenger of Jehovah, and therefore\nhe must have falsified his message in order to delude his audience;\nif, however, he has not himself heard the Divine voice he is no better\nthan a dervish, and in pretending to speak with the authority of an\nambassador from heaven he is behaving as a miserable charlatan. In the\ncase now before us the motive for the practice of deceit is very\nevident. It is thirst for popularity. Truth, right, God's will--these\nimperial authorities count for nothing, because the favour of the\npeople is reckoned as everything. No doubt there are times when the\ntemptation to descend to untruthfulness in the discharge of a public\nfunction is peculiarly pressing. When party feeling is roused, or when\na mad panic has taken possession of a community, it is exceedingly\ndifficult to resist the current and maintain what one knows to be\nright in conflict with the popular movement. But in its more common\noccurrence this treachery cannot plead any such excuse. That truth\nshould be trampled under foot and souls endangered merely to enable a\npublic speaker to refresh his vanity with the music of applause is\nabout the most despicable exhibition of selfishness imaginable. If a\nman who has been set in a place of trust prostitutes his privileges\nsimply to win admiration for his oratory, or at most in order to avoid\nthe discomfort of unpopularity or the disappointment of neglect, his\nsin is unpardonable.\n\nThe one form of unfaithfulness on the part of these religious leaders\nof Israel of which we are specially informed is their refusal to warn\ntheir reckless fellow-citizens of the approach of danger, or to bring\nhome to their hearer's consciences the guilt of the sin for which the\nimpending doom was the just punishment. They are the prototypes of\nthose writers and preachers who smooth over the unpleasant facts of\nlife. It is not easy for any one to wear the mantle of Elijah, or echo\nthe stern desert voice of John the Baptist. Men who covet popularity\ndo not care to be reckoned pessimists; and when the gloomy truth is\nnot flattering to their hearers they are sorely tempted to pass on to\nmore congenial topics. This was apparent in the Deistic optimism that\nalmost stifled spiritual life during the Eighteenth Century. Our age\nis far from being optimistic; and yet the same temptation threatens to\nsmother religion to-day. In an aristocratic age the sycophant flatters\nthe great; in a democratic age he flatters the people--who are then\nin fact the great. The peculiar danger of our own day is that the\npreacher should simply echo popular cries, and voice the demands of\nthe majority irrespective of the question of their justice. Thrust\ninto the position of a social leader with more urgency than his\npredecessors of any time since the age of the Hebrew prophets, it is\nexpected that he will lead whither the people wish to go, and if he\ndeclines to do so he is denounced as retrograde. And yet as the\nmessenger of Heaven he should consider it his supreme duty to reveal\nthe whole counsel of God, to speak for truth and righteousness, and\ntherefore to condemn the sins of the democracy equally with the sins\nof the aristocracy. Brave labour-leaders have fallen into disfavour\nfor telling working-men that their worst enemies were their own\nvices--such as intemperance. The wickedness of a responsible teacher\nwho treasonably neglects thus to warn his brethren of danger is\npowerfully expressed by Ezekiel's clear, antithetical statements\nconcerning the respective guilt of the watchman and his\nfellow-citizen, which show conclusively that the greatest burden of\nblame must rest on the unfaithful watchman.[254]\n\n  [254] Ezek. iii. 16-21.\n\nIn the hour of their exposure these wretched prophets and priests lose\nall sense of dignity, even lose their self-possession, and stumble\nabout like blind men, helpless and bewildered. Their behaviour\nsuggests the idea that they must be drunk with the blood they have\nshed, or overcome by the intoxication of their thirst for blood; but\nthe explanation is that they cannot lift up their heads to look a\nneighbour in the face, because all their little devices have been torn\nto shreds, all their specious lies detected, all their empty promises\nfalsified. This shame of dethroned popularity is the greatest\nhumiliation. The unhappy man who has brought himself to live on the\nbreath of fame cannot hide his fall in oblivion and obscurity as a\nprivate person may do. Standing in the full blaze of the world's\nobservation which he has so eagerly focussed on himself, he has no\nalternative but to exchange the glory of popularity for the ignominy\nof notoriety.\n\nPossibly the confusion consequent on their exposure is all that the\npoet is thinking of when he depicts the blind staggering of the\nprophets and priests. But it is not unreasonable to take this picture\nas an illustration of their moral condition, especially after the\nreferences to the faults of the prophets in the second elegy have\ndirected our attention to their spiritual darkness and the vanity of\ntheir visions. When the refuge of lies in which they had trusted was\nswept away they would necessarily find themselves lost and helpless.\nThey had so long worshipped falsehood, it had become so much their god\nthat we might say, in it they had lived, and moved, and had their\nbeing. But now they have lost the very atmosphere of their lives. This\nis the penalty of deceit. The man who begins by using it as his tool\nbecomes in time its victim. At first he lies with his eyes open; but\nthe sure effect of this conduct is that his sight becomes dim and\nblurred, till, if he persist in the fatal course long enough, he is\nultimately reduced to a condition of blindness. Joy continually mixing\ntruth and falsehood together he loses the power of distinguishing\nbetween them. It may be supposed that at an earlier stage of their\ndecline, if the religious leaders of Israel had been honest with\nregard to their own convictions they must have admitted the possible\ngenuineness of those prophets of ruin whom they had persecuted in\ndeference to popular clamour. But they had rejected all such unwelcome\nthoughts so persistently that in course of time they had lost the\nperception of them. Therefore when the truth was flashed upon their\nunwilling minds by the unquestionable revelation of events they were\nas helpless as bats and owls suddenly driven out into the daylight by\nan earthquake that has flung down the crumbling ruins in which they\nhad been sheltering themselves.\n\nThe discovery of the true character of these men was the signal for a\nyell of execration on the part of the people by flattering whom they\nhad obtained their livelihood, or at least all that they most valued\nin life. This too must have been another shock of surprise to them.\nHad they believed in the essential fickleness of popular favour, they\nwould never have built their hopes upon so precarious a foundation,\nfor they might as well have set up their dwelling on the strand that\nwould be flooded at the next turn of the tide. History is strewn with\nthe wreckage of fallen popular reputations of all degrees of merit,\nfrom that of the conscientious martyr who had always looked to higher\nends than the applause which once encircled him, to that of the\nfrivolous child of fortune who had known of nothing better than the\nworld's empty admiration. We see this both in Savonarola martyred at\nthe stake and in Beau Nash starved in a garret. There is no more\npathetic scene to be gathered from the story of religion in the\npresent century than that of Edward Irving, once the idol of society,\nsubsequently deserted by fashion, stationing himself at a street\ncorner to proclaim his message to a chance congregation of idlers; and\nhis mistake was that of an honest man who had been misled by a\ndelusion. Incomparably worse is the fate of the fallen favourite who\nhas no honesty of conviction with which to comfort himself when\nfrowned at by the heartless world that had recently fawned upon him.\n\nThe Jews show their disgust and horror for their former leaders by\npelting them with the leper call. According to the law the leper must\ngo with rent clothes and flowing hair, and his face partly covered,\ncrying, \"Unclean, unclean.\"[255] It is evident that the poet has this\nfamiliar mournful cry in his mind when he describes the treatment of\nthe prophets and priests. And yet there is a difference. The leper is\nto utter the humiliating word himself; but in the case now before us\nit is flung after the outcast leaders by their pitiless\nfellow-citizens. The alteration is not without significance. The\nmiserable victim of bodily disease could not hope to disguise his\ncondition. \"White as snow,\" his well-known complaint was patent to\nevery eye. But it is otherwise with the spiritual leprosy, sin. For a\ntime it may be disguised, a hidden fire in the breast. When it is\nevident to others, too often the last man to perceive it is the\noffender himself; and when he himself is inwardly conscious of guilt\nhe is tempted to wear a cloak of denial before the world. More\nespecially is this the case with one who has been accustomed to make a\nprofession of religion, and most of all with a religious leader. While\nthe publican who has no character to sustain will smite his breast\nwith self-reproaches and cry for mercy, the professional saint is\nblind to his own sins, partly no doubt because to admit their\nexistence would be to shatter his profession.\n\n  [255] Lev. xiii. 45.\n\nBut if the religious leader is slow to confess or even perceive his\nguilt, the world is keen to detect it and swift to cast it in his\nteeth. There is nothing that excites so much loathing; and justly so,\nfor there is nothing that does so much harm. Such conduct is the chief\nprovocative of practical scepticism. It matters not that the logic is\nunsound; men will draw rough and ready conclusions. If the leaders are\ncorrupt the hasty inference is that the cause which is identified with\ntheir names must also be corrupt. Religion suffers more from the\nhypocrisy of some of her avowed champions than from the attacks of all\nthe hosts of her pronounced foes. Accordingly a righteous indignation\nassails those who work such deadly mischief. But less commendable\nmotives urge men in the same direction. Evil itself steals a triumph\nover good in the downfall of its counterfeit. If they knew themselves\nthere must have been some hypocrisy on the side of the persecutors in\nthe demonstrative zeal with which they hounded to death the once\npampered children of fortune the moment they had fallen from the\npedestal of respectability; for could these indignant champions of\nvirtue deny that they had been willing accomplices in the deeds they\nso loudly denounced? or at least that they had not been reluctant to\nbe pleasantly deceived, had not enquired too nicely into the\ncredentials of the flatterers who had spoken smooth things to them?\nConsidering what their own conduct had been, their eagerness in\nexecrating the wickedness of their leaders was almost indecent. There\nis a Pecksniffian air about it. It suggests a sly hope that by thus\nplacing themselves on the side of outraged virtue they were putting\ntheir own characters beyond the suspicion of criticism. They seem to\nhave been too eager to make scapegoats of their clergy. Their action\nappears to show that they had some idea that even at the eleventh hour\nthe city might be spared if it were rid of this plague of the\nblood-stained prophets and priests. And yet however various and\nquestionable the motives of the assailants may have been, there is no\nescape from the conclusion that the wickedness they denounced so\neagerly richly deserved the most severe condemnation. Wherever we meet\nwith it, this is the leprosy of society. Disguised for a time, a\nsecret canker in the breast of unsuspected men, it is certain to break\nout at length; and when it is discovered it merits a measure of\nindignation proportionate to the previous deception.\n\nExile is the doom of these guilty prophets and priests. But even in\ntheir banishment they can find no place of rest. They wander from one\nforeign nation to another; they are permitted to stay with none of\nthem. Unlike our English pretenders who were allowed to take up their\nabode among the enemies of their country, these Jews were suspected\nand disliked wherever they went. They had been unfaithful to Jehovah;\nyet they could not proclaim themselves devotees of Baal. The heathen\nwere not prepared to draw fine distinctions between the various\nfactions in the Israelite camp. The world only scoffs at the quarrels\nof the sects. Moreover, these false, worthless leaders had been the\nzealots of national feeling in the old boastful days when Jeremiah had\nbeen denounced by their party as a traitor. Then they had been the\nmost exclusive of the Jews. As they had made their bed so must they\nlie on it. The poet suggests no term to this melancholy fate. Perhaps\nwhile he was writing his elegy the wretched men were to his own\nknowledge still journeying wearily from place to place. Thus like the\nfratricide Cain, like the wandering Jew of mediaeval legend, the\nfallen leaders of the religion of Israel find their punishment in a\ndoom of perpetual homelessness. Is it too severe a penalty for the\nfatal deceit that wrought death, and so was equivalent to murder of\nthe worst sort, cold-blooded, deliberate murder? There is a perfectly\nDantesque appropriateness in it. The Inferno of the popularity-mongers\nis a homeless desert of unpopularity. Quiet, retiring souls and dreamy\nlovers of nature might derive rest and refreshment from a hermit life\nin the wilderness. Not so these slaves of society. Deprived of the\nsupport of their surrounding element--like jelly-fish flung on to the\nbeach to shrivel up and perish--in banishment from city life such men\nmust experience a total collapse. Just in proportion to the hollowness\nand unreality with which a man has made the pursuit of the world's\napplause the chief object of his life, is the dismal fate he will have\nto endure when, having sown the wind of vanity, he reaps the whirlwind\nof indignation. The ill-will of his fellow-men is hard to bear; but\nbehind it is the far more terrible wrath of God, whose judgment the\nmiserable time-server has totally ignored while sedulously cultivating\nthe favour of the world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\n_VAIN HOPES_\n\niv. 17-20\n\n\nThe first part of the fourth elegy was specially concerned with the\nfate of the gilded youth of Jerusalem; the second and closely parallel\npart with that of the princes; the third introduced us to the dramatic\nscene in which the fallen priests and prophets were portrayed; now in\nthe fourth part of the elegy the king and his courtiers are the\nprominent figures. While all the rest of the poem is written in the\nthird person, this short section is composed in the first person\nplural. The arrangement is not exactly like that of the third elegy,\nin which, after speaking in his own person, the poet appears as the\nrepresentative and spokesman of his people. The more simple form of\nthe composition now under consideration would lead us to suppose that\nthe pronoun \"we\" comes in for the most natural reason--viz., because\nthe writer was himself an actor in the scene which he here describes.\nWe must conclude, then, that he was one of the group of Zedekiah's\npersonal attendants, or at least a member of a company of Jews which\nescaped at the time of the royal flight and took the same road when\nthe citizens were scattered by the sack of the city.\n\nThe picture, however, is somewhat idealised. Events that could only\nhave taken place in succession are described as though they were all\noccurring in the present. We have first the anxious watching of the\nbesieged for the advent of an army of relief; then the chase of their\nvictims through the streets by the invaders--which must have been\nafter they had broken into the city; next the flight and pursuit over\nthe mountains; and lastly, the capture of the king. This setting of a\nsuccession of events in one scene as though they were contemporaneous\nis so far an imaginary arrangement that we must be on our guard\nagainst a too literal interpretation of the details. Evidently we have\nhere a poetic picture, not the bare deposition of a witness.\n\nThe burden of the passage is the grievous disappointment of the court\nparty at the failure of their fond hopes. But Jeremiah was directly\nopposed to that party, and though our author was not the great prophet\nhimself we have abundant evidence that he was a faithful disciple who\nechoed the very thoughts and shared the deepest convictions of his\nmaster. How then can he now appear as one of the court party? It is\njust possible that he was no friend of Jeremiah at the time he is now\ndescribing. He may have been converted subsequently by the logic of\nfacts, or by the more potent influence of the discipline of adversity,\na possibility which would give peculiar significance to the personal\nconfessions contained in the previous elegy, with its account of \"the\nman who had seen affliction.\" But the poetic form of the section\ndealing with the court, and the fact that all it describes is\nexpressed in the present tense, prevent us from pressing this\nconjecture to a definite conclusion. It would be enough if we could\nsuppose, as there is no difficulty in doing, that in the general\nconfusion our poet found himself in unexpected companionship with the\nflying court. Thus he would witness their experiences.\n\nWe have, then, in this place an expression of the attitude of the\ncourt party in the midst of the great calamities that have overtaken\nthem. It is emphatically one of profound disappointment. These deluded\npeople had been sanguine to the last, and proudly sceptical of danger,\nwith an infatuation almost amounting to insanity which had blinded\nthem to the palpable lessons of defeats already endured--for we must\nnot forget that Jerusalem had been taken twice before this. Naturally\ntheir disappointment was proportionate to their previous elation.\n\nThe hopes that had been thus rudely dashed to the ground had been\nbased on a feeling of the sacred inviolability of Jerusalem. This\nfeeling had been sedulously nurtured by a bastard form of religion.\nLike the worship of Rome in Virgil's day, a sort of cult of Jerusalem\nhad now grown up. Men who had no faith in Jehovah put their trust in\nJerusalem. The starting-point and excuse of this singular creed are to\nbe traced to the deep-rooted conviction of the Jews that their city\nwas the chosen favourite of Jehovah, and that therefore her God would\ncertainly protect her. But this idea was treated most inconsistently\nwhen people coolly ignored the Divine will while boldly claiming\nDivine favour. In course of time even that position was abandoned, and\nJerusalem became practically a fetich. Then, while faith in the\ndestiny of the city was cherished as a superstition, prophets such as\nJeremiah, who directed men's thoughts to God, were silenced and\npersecuted. This folly of the Jews has its counterpart in the\nexaltation of the papacy during the Middle Ages. The Pope claimed to\nbe seated on his throne by the authority of Christ; but the papacy\nwas really put in the place of Christ. Similarly people who trust in\nthe Church, their City of God, rather than in her Lord, have fallen\ninto an error like that of the Jews, who put confidence in their city\nrather than in their God. So have those who confide in their own\nelection instead of looking to the Divine Sovereign who, they declare,\nhas named them in His eternal decrees; and those again who set\nreliance on their religion, its rites and creeds; and lastly, those\nwho trust in their very faith as itself a saving power. In all these\ncases, the city, the Pope, the election, the Church, the religion, the\nfaith are simply idols, no more able to protect the superstitious\npeople who put them in the place of God than the ark that was captured\nin battle when the Jews tried to use it as a talisman, or even the\nfish-god Dagon that lay shattered before it in the Philistine temple.\n\nBut now we find the old-established faith in Jerusalem so far\nundermined that it has to be supplemented by other grounds of hope. In\nparticular there are two of these--the king and a foreign ally. The\nally is mentioned first because the poet starts from the time when men\nstill hoped that the Egyptians would espouse the cause of Israel, and\ncome to the help of the little kingdom against the hosts of Babylon.\nThere was much to be said in favour of this expectation. In the past\nEgypt had been in alliance with the people now threatened. The two\ngreat kingdoms of the Nile and the Euphrates were rivals; and the\naggressive policy of Babylon had brought her into conflict with Egypt.\nThe Pharaohs might be glad to have Israel preserved as a \"buffer\nstate.\" Indeed, negotiations had been carried on with that end in\nview. Nevertheless the dreams of deliverance built on this foundation\nwere doomed to disappointment. The poet shows us the anxious Jews on\ntheir city towers straining their eyes till they are weary in watching\nfor the relief that never comes. They could look down through the gap\nin the hills towards Bethlehem and the south country, and the dust of\nan army would be visible from afar in the clear Syrian atmosphere;\nbut, alas! no distant cloud promises the approach of the deliverer. We\nare reminded of the siege of Lucknow; but in the hour of the Jews'\ngreat need there is no sign corresponding to the welcome music of the\nScotch air that ravished the ears of the British garrison.\n\nFaithful prophets had repeatedly warned the Jews against this false\nground of hope. In a former generation Isaiah had cautioned his\ncontemporaries not to lean on \"this broken reed\"[256] Egypt; and at\nthe present crisis Jeremiah had followed with similar advice,\npredicting the failure of the Egyptian alliance, and replying to the\nmessengers of Zedekiah who had come to solicit the prophet's prayers:\n\"Thus saith the Lord, the God of Israel: Thus shall ye say to the king\nof Judah, that sent you unto me to enquire of me; Behold, Pharaoh's\narmy, which is come forth to help you, shall return to Egypt into\ntheir own land. And the Chaldaeans shall come again, and fight against\nthis city; and they shall take it, and burn it with fire.\"[257] Though\nregarded at the time as unpatriotic and even treasonable, this advice\nproved to be sound, and the predictions of the messenger of Jehovah\ncorrect. Now that we can read the events in the light of history we\nhave no difficulty in perceiving that even as a matter of state\npolicy the counsel of Isaiah and Jeremiah was wise and statesmanlike.\nBabylon was quite irresistible. Even Egypt could not stand against the\npowerful empire that was making itself master of the world. Besides,\nalliance with Egypt involved the loss of liberty, for it had to be\npaid for, and the weak ally of a great kingdom was no better than a\ntributary state. Meanwhile Israel was embroiled in quarrels from which\nshe should have tried, as far as possible, to keep herself aloof.\n\n  [256] Isa. xxxvi. 6.\n\n  [257] Jer. xxxvii. 7, 8.\n\nBut the prophets shewed that deeper questions than such as concern\npolitical diplomacy were at stake. In happier days the arm of\nProvidence had been laid bare, and Jerusalem saved without a blow,\nwhen the destroying angel of pestilence swept through the Assyrian\nhost. It is true Jerusalem had to submit soon after this; but the\nlesson was being taught that her safety really consisted in\nsubmission. This was the kernel of Jeremiah's unpopular message.\nHistorically and politically that too was justified. It was useless to\nattempt to stem the tide of one of the awful marches of a\nworld-conquering army. Only the obstinacy of a fanatical patriotism\ncould have led the Jews of this period to hold out so long against the\nmight of Babylon, just as the very same obstinacy encouraged their mad\ndescendants in the days of Titus to resist the arms of Rome. But then\nthe prophets were constantly preaching to heedless ears that there was\nreal safety in submission, that a humble measure of escape was to be\nhad by simply complying with the demands of the irresistible\nconquerors. Proud patriots might despise this consolation, preferring\nto die fighting. But that was scarcely the case with the fugitives;\nthese people had neither the relief that is the reward of a quiet\nsurrender, nor the glory that accompanies death on the battle-field.\nTo those who could hear the deeper notes of prophetic teaching the\nsafety of surrender meant a much more valuable boon. The submission\nrecommended was not merely to be directed to King Nebuchadnezzar;\nprimarily it consisted in yielding to the will of God. People who will\nnot turn to this one true refuge from all danger and trouble are\ntempted to substitute a variety of vain hopes. Most of us have our\nEgypt to which we look when the vision of God has become dim in the\nsoul. The worldly cynicism that echoes and degrades the words of the\nPreacher, \"Vanity of vanities; all is vanity,\" is really the product\nof the decay of dead hopes. It would not be so sour if it had not been\ndisappointed. Yet so persistent is the habit of castle-building, that\nthe cloudland in which many previous structures of fancy have melted\naway is resorted to again and again by an eager throng of fresh aerial\narchitects. After experience has confirmed the warning that riches\ntake to themselves wings and flee away, and in face of our Lord's\nadvice not to lay up treasures where thieves break through and steal,\nand where moth and rust consume, we see men as eager as ever to scrape\nwealth together, as ready to put all their trust in it when it has\ncome to them, as astonished and dismayed when it has failed them.\nAmbition was long ago proved to be a frail bubble; yet ambition never\nwants for slaves. The cup of pleasure has been drained so often that\nthe world should know by this time how very nauseous its dregs are;\nand still feverish hands are held out to grasp it.\n\nNow this obstinate disregard of the repeated lessons of experience is\ntoo remarkable a habit of life to be reckoned as a mere accident.\nThere must be some adequate causes to account for it. In the first\nplace, it testifies with singular force to the vitality of what we\nmay call the faculty of hope itself. Disappointment does not kill the\ntendency to reach forth to the future, because this tendency comes\nfrom within, and is not a mere response to impressions. In persons of\na sanguine temperament this may be taken to be a constitutional\npeculiarity; but it is too widespread to be disposed of as nothing\nmore than a freak of nature. It is rather to be considered an\ninstinct, and as such a part of the original constitution of man. How\nthen has it come to be? Must we not attribute the native hopefulness\nof mankind to the deliberate will and purpose of the Creator? But in\nthat case must we not say of this, as we can say with certainty of\nmost natural instincts: He who has given the hunger will also supply\nthe food with which to satisfy it? To reject that conclusion is to\nland ourselves in a form of pessimism that is next door to atheism.\nSchopenhauer rests the argument by means of which he thinks to\nestablish a pessimistic view of the universe largely on the\ndelusiveness of natural instincts which promise a satisfaction never\nattained; but in reasoning in this way he is compelled to describe the\nsupreme Will that he believes to be the ultimate principle of all\nthings as a non-moral power. The mockery of human existence to which\nhis philosophy reduces us is impossible in view of the Fatherhood of\nGod revealed to us in Jesus Christ. Shelley, contrasting our fears and\ndisappointments with the \"clear keen joyance\" of the skylark, bewails\nthe fact that\n\n  \"We look before and after,\n  And pine for what is not.\"\n\nIf this is the end of the matter, evolution is a mocking progress,\nfor it leads to the pit of despair. If the large vision that takes in\npast and future only brings sorrow, it would have been better for us\nto have retained the limited range of animal perceptions. But faith\nsees in the very experience of disappointment a ground for fresh hope.\nThe discovery that the height already attained is not the summit of\nthe mountain, although it appeared to be when viewed from the plain,\nis a proof that the summit is higher than we had supposed. Meanwhile,\nthe awakening of desires for further climbing is a sign that the\ndisappointments we have experienced hitherto are not occasions for\ndespair. If, as Shelley goes on to say--\n\n  \"Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought,\"\n\nthe sadness cannot be without mitigation, for there must be an element\nof sweetness in it from the first; and if so this must point to a\nfuture when this sadness itself shall pass away. The author of the\nEpistle to the Hebrews argues on these lines when he draws the\nconclusion from the repeated disappointments of the hopes of Israel in\nconjunction with the repeated promises of God that \"there remaineth\ntherefore a rest for the people of God.\"[258] Instincts are God's\npromises written in the Book of Nature. Seeing that our deepest\ninstincts are not satisfied by any of the common experiences of life,\nthey must point to some higher satisfaction.\n\n  [258] Heb. iv. 9.\n\nHere we are brought to the explanation of the disappointment itself.\nWe must confess, in the first instance, that it arises from the\nperverse habit of looking for satisfaction in objects that are too\nlow, objects that are unworthy of human nature. This is one of the\nstrongest evidences of a fall. The more mind and heart are corrupted\nby sin the more will hope be dragged down to inferior things. But the\nstory does not end at this point. God is educating us through\nillusions. If all our aspirations were fulfilled on earth we should\ncease to hope for what was higher than earth. Hope is purged and\nelevated by the discovery of the vanity of its pursuits.\n\nThese considerations will be confirmed when we follow the elegist in\nhis treatment of the disappointment of the second ground of hope, that\nwhich was found in the royalist's confidence in his sovereign. The\npoetic account of the events which ended in the capture of Zedekiah\nseems to consist in a blending of metaphor with history. The image of\nthe chase underlies the whole description. It has been pointed out\nthat with the narrowness of eastern streets and the simplicity of the\nweapons of ancient warfare, it would be impossible for the Chaldaeans\nto pick out their victims and shoot them down from outside the walls.\nBut when they had effected an entrance they would not simply make the\nstreets dangerous, for then they would be breaking into the houses\nwhere the people are here supposed to be hiding. The language seems\nmore fit for the description of a faction fight, such as often\noccurred in Paris at the time of the French Revolution, than an\naccount of the sack of a city by a foreign enemy. But the hunting\nimage is in the poet's mind, and the whole picture is coloured by it.\nAfter the siege the fugitives are pursued over the mountains. Taking\nthe route across the Mount of Olives and so down to the Jordan, that\nwhich David had followed in his flight from Absalom, they would soon\nfind themselves in a difficult wilderness country. They had despaired\nof their lives in the city, exclaiming: \"Our end is near, our days\nare fulfilled; for our end is come.\"[259] Now they are in sore\nextremities. The swift pursuit suggests Jeremiah's image of the eagles\non the wing overtaking their quarry. \"Behold, he shall come up as\nclouds,\" said the prophet, \"and his chariots shall be as the\nwhirlwind; his horses are swifter than eagles.\"[260] There was no\npossibility of escape from such persistent foes. At the same time,\nambuscades were in waiting among the many caves that honeycomb these\nlimestone mountains--in the district where the traveller in the\nparable of \"The good Samaritan\" fell among thieves. The king himself\nwas taken like a hunted animal caught in a trap, though, as we learn\nfrom the history, not till he had reached Jericho.[261]\n\n  [259] iv. 18.\n\n  [260] Jer. iv. 13\n\n  [261] 2 Kings xxv. 4, 5; Jer. xxxix. 4, 5.\n\nThe language in which Zedekiah is described is singularly strong. He\nis \"the breath of our nostrils, the anointed of the Lord.\" The hope of\nthe fugitives had been \"to live under his shadow among the\nnations.\"[262] It is startling to find such words applied to so weak\nand worthless a ruler. It cannot be the expression of sycophancy; for\nthe king and his kingdom had disappeared before the elegy was written.\nZedekiah was not so bad as some of his predecessors. Like Louis XVI.,\nhe reaped the long accumulating retribution of the sins of his\nancestors. Yet after making due allowance for the exuberance of the\nOriental style, we must feel that the language is out of proportion to\nthe possibilities of the most courtly devotion of the time. Evidently\nthe kingly idea means more than the prosaic personality of any\nparticular monarch. The romantic enthusiasm of Cavaliers and Nonjurors\nfor the Stuarts was not to be accounted for by the merits and\nattractions of the various successive sovereigns and pretenders\ntowards whom it was directed. The doctrine of the Divine right of\nkings is always associated with vague thoughts of power and glory that\nare never realised in history. This is most strikingly evident in the\nHebrew conception of the status and destiny of the line of David. But\nin that one supreme case of devotion to royalty the dream of the ages\nultimately came to be fulfilled, and more than fulfilled, though in a\nvery different manner from the anticipation of the Jews. There is\nsomething pathetic in the last shred of hope to which the fugitives\nwere clinging. They had lost their homes, their city, their land; yet\neven in exile they clung to the idea that they might keep together\nunder the protection of their fallen king. It was a delusion. But the\nstrange faith in the destiny of the Davidic line that here passes into\nfanaticism is the seed-bed of the Messianic ideas which constitute the\nmost wonderful part of Old Testament prophecy. By a blind but divinely\nguided instinct the Jews were led to look through the failure of their\nhopes on to the appointed time when One should come who only could\ngive them satisfaction.\n\n  [262] iv. 20.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\n_THE DEBT OF GUILT EXTINGUISHED_\n\niv. 21, 22\n\n\nOne after another the vain hopes of the Jews melt in mists of sorrow.\nBut just as the last of these flickering lights is disappearing a\ngleam of consolation breaks out from another quarter, like the pale\nyellow streak that may sometimes be seen low on the western sky of a\nstormy day just before nightfall, indicating that the setting sun is\nbehind the clouds, although its dying rays are too feeble to penetrate\nthem. Hope is scarcely the word for so faint a sign of comfort as this\nmelancholy fourth elegy affords in lifting the curtain of gloom for\none brief moment; but the bare, negative relief which the prospect of\nan end to the accumulation of new calamities offers is a welcome\nchange in itself, besides being a hint that the tide may be on the\nturn.\n\nIt is quite characteristic of our poet's sombre tones that even in an\nattempt to touch on brighter ideas than usually occupy his thoughts,\nhe should illustrate the improving prospects of Israel by setting them\nin contrast to a sardonic description of the fate of Edom. This\nneighbouring nation is addressed in the time of her elation over the\nfall of Jerusalem. The extension of her territory to the land of Uz in\nArabia--Job's country--is mentioned to show that she is in a position\nof exceptional prosperity. The poet mockingly encourages the jealous\npeople to \"rejoice and be glad\" at the fate of their rival. The irony\nof his language is evident from the fact that he immediately proceeds\nto pronounce the doom of Edom. The cup of God's wrath that Israel has\nbeen made to drink shall pass to her also; and she shall drink deeply\nof it till she is intoxicated and, like Noah, makes herself an object\nof shame. Thus will God visit the daughter of Edom with the punishment\nof her sins. The writer says that God will _discover_ them. He does\nnot mean by this phrase that God will find them out. They were never\nhidden from God; there are no discoveries for Him to make concerning\nany of us, because He knows all about us every moment of our lives.\nThe phrase stands in opposition to the common Hebrew expression for\nthe forgiveness of sins. When sins are forgiven they are said to be\ncovered; therefore when they are said to be uncovered it is as though\nwe were told that God does the reverse of forgiving them--strips them\nof every rag of apology, lays them bare. That is their condemnation.\nNothing is more ugly than a naked sin.\n\nThe selection of this one neighbour of the Jews for special attention\nis accounted for by what contemporary prophets tell us concerning the\nbehaviour of the Edomites when Jerusalem fell. They flew like vultures\nto a carcass. Ezekiel writes: \"Thus saith the Lord God, Because that\nEdom hath dealt against the house of Judah by taking vengeance, and\nhath greatly offended, and revenged himself upon them; therefore thus\nsaith the Lord God, I will stretch out Mine hand upon Edom, and will\ncut off man and beast from it, and I will make it desolate from Teman;\neven unto Dedan shall they fall by the sword. And I will lay My\nvengeance upon Edom by the hand of My people Israel, and they shall do\nin Edom according to Mine anger and according to My fury, and they\nshall know My vengeance, saith the Lord God.\"[263] Isaiah xxxiv. is\ndevoted to a vivid description of the coming punishment of Edom. This\nrace of rough mountaineers had seldom been on friendly terms with\ntheir Hebrew neighbours. Nations like individuals, do not always find\nit easy to avoid quarrels with those who are closest to them. Neither\nblood relationship nor commerce prevents the outbreak of hostilities\nin a situation that gives many occasions for mutual jealousy. For\ncenturies France and England, which should be the best friends of\nproximity generated friendship, regarded one another as natural\nenemies. Germany is even a nearer neighbour to France than England is,\nand the frontiers of the two great nations are studded with forts. It\ndoes not appear that the extension of the means of communication among\nthe different countries is likely to close the doors of the temple of\nJanus. The greatest problem of sociology is to discover the secret of\nliving in crowded communities among a variety of conflicting interests\nwithout any injustice, or any friction arising from the juxtaposition\nof different classes. It is far easier to keep the peace among\nbackwoodsmen who live fifty miles apart in lonely forests. Therefore\nit is not a surprising thing that there were bitter feuds between\nIsrael and Edom. But at the time of the Babylonian invasion these had\ntaken a peculiarly odious turn on the side of the southern people, one\nthat was doubly offensive. The various tribes whom the huge\nBabylonian empire was swallowing up with insatiable greed should have\nforgotten their mutual differences in face of their common danger.\nBesides, it was a cowardly thing for Edom to follow the example of the\nBedouin robbers, who hovered on the rear of the great armies of\nconquest like scavengers. To settle old debts by wreaking vengeance on\na fallen rival in the hour of her humiliation was not the way to win\nthe honours of war. Even to a calm student of history in later ages\nthis long-past event shews an ugly aspect. How maddening must it have\nbeen to the victims! Accordingly we are not astonished to see that the\ndoom of the Edomites is pronounced by Hebrew prophets with undisguised\nsatisfaction. The proud inhabitants of the rock cities, the wonderful\nremains of which amaze the traveller in the present day, had earned\nthe severe humiliation so exultingly described.\n\n  [263] Ezek. xxv. 12-14.\n\nIn all this it is very plain that the author of the Lamentations, like\nthe Hebrew prophets generally, had an unhesitating belief in a\nsupremacy of God over foreign nations that was quite as effective as\nHis supremacy over Israel. On the other hand, iniquity is ascribed to\nIsrael in exactly the same terms that are applied to foreign nations.\nJehovah is not imagined to be a mere tribal divinity like the Moabite\nChemosh; and the Jews are not held to be so much His favourites that\nthe treatment measured out to them in punishment of sin is essentially\ndifferent from that accorded to their neighbours.\n\nTo Israel, however, the doom of Edom is a sign of the return of mercy.\nIt is not merely that the passion of revenge is thereby satisfied--a\npoor consolation, even if allowable. But in the overthrow of their\nmost annoying tormentor the oppressed people are at once liberated\nfrom a very appreciable part of their troubles. At the same time, they\nsee in this event a clear sign that they are not selected for a\nsolitary example of the vengeance of heaven against sin; that would\nhave been indeed a hard destiny. But above all, this occurrence\naffords a reassuring sign that God who is thus punishing their enemies\nis ending the severe discipline of the Jews. In the very middle of the\ndescription of the coming doom of Edom we meet with an announcement of\nthe conclusion of the long penance of Israel. This singular\narrangement cannot be accidental; nor can it have been resorted to\nonly to obtain the accentuation of contrast which we have seen is\nhighly valued by the elegist. Since it is while contemplating the\nDivine treatment of the most spiteful of the enemies of Israel that we\nare led to see the termination of the chastisement of the Jews, we may\ninfer that possibly the process in the mind of the poet took the same\ncourse. If so, the genesis of prophecy which is usually hidden from\nview here seems to come nearer the surface.\n\nThe language in which the improving prospect of the Jews is announced\nis somewhat obscure; but the drift of its meaning is not difficult to\ntrace. The word rendered \"punishment of iniquity\" in our English\nversions--Revised as well as Authorised--at the beginning of the\ntwenty-second verse, is one which in its original sense means simply\n\"iniquity\"; and in fact it is so translated further down in the same\nverse, where it occurs a second time, and where the parallel word\n\"sins\" seems to settle the meaning. But if it has this meaning when\napplied to Edom in the later part of the verse is it not reasonable to\nsuppose that it must also have it when applied to the daughter of Zion\nin an immediately preceding clause? The Septuagint and Vulgate\nVersions give it as \"iniquity\" in both cases. And so does a suggestion\nin the margin of the Revised Version. But if we accept this rendering,\nwhich commends itself to us as verbally most correct, we cannot\nreconcile it with the evident intention of the writer. The promise\nthat God will no more carry His people away into captivity, which\nfollows as an echo of the opening thought of the verse, certainly\npoints to a cessation of punishment. Then the very idea that the\niniquity of the Jews is accomplished is quite out of place here. What\ncould we take it to mean? To say that the Jews had sinned to the full,\nhad carried out all their evil intentions, had put no restraint on\ntheir wickedness, is to give a verdict which should carry the heaviest\ncondemnation; it would be absurd to bring this forward as an\nintroduction to a promise of a reprieve. It would be less incongruous\nto suppose the phrase to mean, as is suggested in the margin of the\nRevised Version, that the sin has come to an end, has ceased. That\nmight be taken as a ground for the punishment to be stayed also. But\nit would introduce a refinement of theology out of keeping with the\nextreme simplicity of the ideas of these elegies. Moreover, in another\nplace, as we have seen already,[264] the word \"sins\" seems to be used\nfor the _punishment_ of sins.[265] We have also met with the idea of\nthe _fulfilment_, literally the _finishing_, of God's word of warning,\nwith the necessary suggestion that there is to be no more infliction\nof the evil threatened.[266] Therefore, if it were not for the\nreappearance of the word in dispute where the primary meaning of it\nseems to be necessitated by the context, we should have no hesitation\nin taking it here in its secondary sense, as the punishment of\niniquity. The German word _schuld_, with its double signification--_debt_\nand _guilt_--has been suggested as a happy rendering of the Hebrew\noriginal in both places; and perhaps this is the best that can be proposed.\nThe debt of the Jews is paid; that of the Edomites has yet to be exacted.\n\n  [264] Page 269.\n\n  [265] iii. 39.\n\n  [266] ii. 17.\n\nWe are brought then to the conclusion that the elegist here announces\nthe extinction of the Jews' debt of guilt. Accordingly they are told\nthat God will no more carry them away into captivity. This promise has\noccasioned much perplexity to people concerned for the literal\nexactness of Scripture. Some have tried to get it applied to the time\nsubsequent to the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans, after which,\nit is said, the Jews were never again removed from their land. That is\nabout the most extravagant instance of all the subterfuges to which\nliteralists are driven when in a sore strait to save their theory.\nCertainly the Jews have not been exiled again--not since the last\ntime. They could not be carried away from their land once more, for\nthe simple reason that they have never been restored to it. Strictly\nspeaking, it may be said indeed, something of the kind occurred on the\nsuppression of the revolt under _Bar-cochba_ in the second century of\nthe Christian era. But all theories apart, it is contrary to the\ndiscovered facts of prophecy to ascribe to the inspired messengers of\nGod the purpose of supplying exact predictions concerning the events\nof history in far-distant ages. Their immediate message was for their\nown day, although we have found that the lessons it contains are\nsuitable for all times. What consolation would it be for the fugitives\nfrom the ravaging hosts of Nebuchadnezzar to know that six hundred\nyears later an end would come to the successive acts of conquerors in\ndriving the Jews from Jerusalem, even if they were not told that this\nwould be because at that far-off time there would commence one long\nexile lasting for two thousand years? But if the words of the elegist\nare for immediate use as a consolation to his contemporaries, it is\nunreasonable to press their negative statement in an absolute sense,\nso as to make it serve as a prediction concerning all future ages. It\nis enough for these sufferers to learn that the last of the series of\nsuccessive banishments of Jews from their land by the Babylonian\ngovernment has at length taken place.\n\nBut with this information there comes a deeper truth. The debt is\npaid. Yet this is only at the commencement of the Captivity. Two\ngenerations must live in exile before the restoration will be\npossible. There is no reference to that event, which did not take\nplace till the Babylonian power had been utterly destroyed by Cyrus.\nStill the deliverance into exile following the terrible sufferings of\nthe siege and the subsequent flight is taken as the final act in the\ndrama of doom. The long years of the captivity, though they\nconstituted an invaluable period of discipline, did not bring any\nfresh kind of punishment at all comparable with the chastisements\nalready inflicted.\n\nThus we are brought face to face with the question of the satisfaction\nof punishment. We have no right to look to a single line of a poem for\na final settlement of the abstract problem itself. Whether, as St.\nAugustine maintained, every sin is of infinite guilt because it is an\noffence against an infinite Being; whether, therefore, it would take\neternity to pay the debts contracted during one short life on earth,\nand other questions of the same character, cannot be answered one way\nor the other from the words before us. Still there are certain aspects\nof the problem of human guilt to which our attention is here drawn.\n\nIn the first place, we must make a distinction between the national\npunishment of national wickedness and the personal consequences of\npersonal wrongdoing. The nation only exists on earth, and it can only\nbe punished on earth. Then the nation outlasts generations of\nindividual lives, and so remains on earth long enough for the harvest\nof its actions to be reaped. Thus national guilt may be wiped out\nwhile the separate accounts of individual men and women still remain\nunsettled. Next we must remember that the exaction of the uttermost\nfarthing is not the supreme end of the Divine government of the world.\nTo suggest any such idea is to assimilate this perfect government to\nthat of corrupt Oriental monarchies, the chief object of which in\ndealing with their provinces seems to have been to drain them of\ntribute. The payment of the debt of guilt in punishment, though just\nand necessary, cannot be a matter of any satisfaction to God. Again,\nwhen, as in the case now before us, the punishment of sin is a\nchastisement for the reformation of the corrupt nation on whom it is\ninflicted, it may not be necessary to make it exactly equivalent to\nthe guilt for which it is the remedy rather than the payment. Lastly,\neven when we think of the punishment as direct retribution, we cannot\nsay what means God may provide for the satisfaction of the due claims\nof justice. The second Isaiah saw in the miseries inflicted upon the\ninnocent at this very time, a vicarious suffering by the endurance of\nwhich pardon was extended to the guilty;[267] and from the days of\nthe Apostles, Christians have recognised in his language on this\nsubject the most striking prophecy the Bible contains concerning the\natonement wrought by our Lord in His sufferings and death. When we put\nall these considerations together, and also call to our assistance the\nNew Testament teachings about the character of God and the object of\nthe work of Jesus Christ, we shall see that there are various\npossibilities lying behind the thought of the end of chastisement\nwhich no bare statement of the abstract relations of sin, guilt, and\ndoom would indicate.\n\n  [267] Isa. liii. 4-6.\n\nIt may be objected that all such ideas as those just expressed tend to\ngenerate superficial views of sin. Possibly they may be employed so as\nto encourage this tendency. But if so, it will only be by\nmisinterpreting and abusing them. Certainly the elegist does not\nbelittle the rigour of the Divine chastisement. It must not be\nforgotten that the phrase which gives rise to these ideas concerning\nthe debt of guilt occurs in the doleful Book of Lamentations, and at\nthe close of an elegy that bewails the awful fate of Jerusalem in the\nstrongest language. But in point of fact it is not the severity of\npunishment, beyond a certain degree, but the certainty of it that most\naffects the mind when contemplating the prospect of doom. Not only\ndoes the imagination fail to grasp that which is immeasurably vast in\nthe pictures presented to it, but even the reason rises in revolt and\nquestions the possibility of such torments, or the conscience ventures\nto protest against what appears to be unjust. In any of these cases\nthe effect of the menace is neutralised by its very extravagance.\n\nOn the other hand, we have St. Paul's teaching about the goodness of\nGod that leads us to repentance.[268] Thus we understand how it can\nbe said that Christ--who is the most perfect revelation of God's\ngoodness--was raised up to give \"_repentance_ to Israel\" as well as\n\"remission of sins.\"[269] It is at Calvary, not at Sinai, that sin\nlooks most black. When a man sees his guilt in the light of his\nSaviour's love he is in no mood to apologise for it or to minimise his\nill desert. If he then contemplates the prospect of the full payment\nof the debt it is with a feeling of the impossibility of ever\nachieving so stupendous a task. The punishment from which he would\nrevolt as an injustice if it were held over him in a threat now\npresents itself to him of its own accord as something quite right and\nreasonable. He cannot find words strong enough to characterise his\nguilt, as he lies at the foot of the cross in absolute self-abasement.\nThere is no occasion to fear that such a man will become careless\nabout sin if he is comforted by a vision of hope. This is just what he\nneeds to enable him to rise up and accept the forgiveness in the\nstrength of which he may begin the toilsome ascent towards a better\nlife.\n\n  [268] Rom. ii. 4.\n\n  [269] Acts v. 31.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\n_AN APPEAL FOR GOD'S COMPASSION_\n\nv. 1-10\n\n\nUnlike its predecessors, the fifth and last elegy is not an acrostic.\nThere is little to be gained by a discussion of the various\nconjectures that have been put forth to account for this change of\nstyle: as that the _crescendo_ movement which reached its climax in\nthe third elegy was followed by a _decrescendo_ movement, the\nconclusion of which became more prosaic; that the feelings of the poet\nhaving been calmed down during the composition of the main part of his\nwork, he did not require the restraints of an exceptionally artificial\nmethod any longer; that such a method was not so becoming in a prayer\nto God as it had been in the utterance of a lament. In answer to these\nsuggestions, it may be remarked that some of the choicest poetry in\nthe book occurs at the close of this last chapter, that the acrostic\nwas taken before as a sign that the writer had his feelings well under\ncommand, and that prayers appear repeatedly in the alphabetical poems.\nIs it not enough to say that in all probability the elegies were\ncomposed on different occasions, and that when they were put together\nit was natural that one in which the author had not chosen to bind\nhimself down to the peculiarly rigorous method employed in the rest\nof the book should have been placed at the end? Even here we have a\nreminiscence of the acrostic; for the poem consists of twenty-two\nverses--the number of the letters in the Hebrew alphabet.\n\nIt is to be observed, further, as regards the form of this elegy, that\nthe author now adopts the parallelism which is the characteristic note\nof most Hebrew poetry. The Revisers break up the poem into two-line\nverses. But, more strictly considered, each verse consists of one long\nline divided into two mutually balancing parts. Thus, while the third\nelegy consists of triplets, and the fourth of couplets, the fifth is\nstill more brief, with its single line verses. In fact, while the\nideas and sentiments are still elegiac and very like those found in\nthe rest of the book, in structure this poem is more assimilated to\nthe poetry contained in other parts of the Bible.\n\nFrom beginning to end the fifth elegy is directly addressed to God.\nBrief ejaculatory prayers are frequent in the earlier poems, and the\nthird elegy contains two longer appeals to God; but this last poem\ndiffers from the others in being entirely a prayer. And yet it does\nnot consist of a string of petitions. It is a meditation in the\npresence of God, or, more accurately described, an account of the\ncondition of the Jews spread out before God in order to secure His\ncompassion. In the freedom and fulness of his utterance the poet\nreveals himself as a man who is not unfamiliar with the habit of\nprayer. It is of course only the delusion of the Pharisees to suppose\nthat a prayer is valuable in proportion to its length. But on the\nother hand, it is clear that a person who is unaccustomed to prayer\nhalts and stumbles because he does not feel at home in addressing\nGod. It is only with a friend that we can converse in perfect freedom.\nOne who has treated God as a stranger will be necessarily stiff and\nconstrained in the Divine presence. It is not enough to assure such a\nperson that God is His Father. A son may feel peculiarly uncomfortable\nwith his own father if he has lived long in separation and alienation\nfrom his home. Freedom in the expression of confidences is a sure\nmeasure of the extent to which friendship is carried. Of course some\npeople are more reserved than others; but still as in the same person\nhis different degrees of openness or reserve with different people\nwill mark his relative intimacy of friendship with them, so when a man\nhas long accustomed himself to believe in the presence and sympathy of\nGod, and has cultivated the habit of communing with his Father in\nheaven, his prayers will not be confined to set petitions; he will\ntell his Father whatever is in his heart. This we have already seen\nwas what the elegist had learnt to do. But in the last of his poems he\nexpresses more explicit and continuous confidences. He will have God\nknow everything.\n\nThe prayer opens with a striking phrase--\"Remember, O Lord,\" etc. The\nmiserable condition of the Jews suggests to the imagination, if not to\nthe reason, that God must have forgotten His people. It cannot be\nsupposed that the elegist conceived of his God as Elijah mockingly\ndescribed their silent, unresponsive divinity to the frantic priests\nof Baal, or that he imagined that Jehovah was really indifferent,\nafter the manner of the denizens of the Epicurean Olympus.\nNevertheless, neither philosophy nor even theology wholly determines\nthe form of an earnest man's prayers. In practice it is impossible not\nto speak according to appearances. The aspect of affairs is sometimes\nsuch as to force home the feeling that God must have deserted the\nsufferer, or how could He have permitted the misery to continue\nunchecked? A dogmatic statement of the Divine omniscience, although it\nmay not be disputed, will not remove the painful impression, nor will\nthe most absolute demonstration of the goodness of God, of His love\nand faithfulness; because the overwhelming influence of things visible\nand tangible so fully occupies the mind that it has not room to\nreceive unseen, spiritual realities. Therefore, though not to the\nreason still to the feelings, it is as though God had indeed forgotten\nHis children in their deep distress.\n\nUnder such circumstances the first requisite is the assurance that God\nshould remember the sufferers whom He appears to be neglecting. He\nnever really neglects any of His creatures, and His attention is the\nall-sufficient security that deliverance must be at hand. But this is\na truth that does not satisfy us in the bare statement of it. It must\nbe absorbed, and permitted to permeate wide regions of consciousness,\nin order that it may be an actual power in the life. That, however, is\nonly the subjective effect of the thought of the Divine remembrance.\nThe poet is thinking of external actions. Evidently the aim of his\nprayer is to secure the attention of God as a sure preliminary to a\nDivine interposition. But even with this end in view the fact that God\nremembers is enough.\n\nIn appealing for God's attention the elegist first makes mention of\nthe _reproach_ that has come upon Israel. This reference to\nhumiliation rather than to suffering as the primary ground of\ncomplaint may be accounted for by the fact that the glory of God is\nfrequently taken as a reason for the blessing of His people. That is\ndone for His \"name's sake.\"[270] Then the ruin of the Jews is\nderogatory to the honour of their Divine Protector. The peculiar\nrelation of Israel to God also underlies the complaint of the second\nverse, in which the land is described as \"our inheritance,\" with an\nevident allusion to the idea that it was received as a donation from\nGod, not acquired in any ordinary human fashion. A great wrong has\nbeen done, apparently in contravention of the ordinance of Heaven. The\nDivine inheritance has been turned over to strangers. The very homes\nof the Jews are in the hands of aliens. From their property the poet\npasses on to the condition of the persons of the sufferers. The Jews\nare orphans; they have lost their fathers, and their mothers are\nwidows. This seems to indicate that the writer considered himself to\nbelong to the younger generation of the Jews,--that, at an events, he\nwas not an elderly man. But it is not easy to determine how far his\nwords are to be read literally. No doubt the slaughter of the war had\ncarried off many heads of families, and left a number of women and\nchildren in the condition here described. But the language of poetry\nwould allow of a more general interpretation. All the Jews felt\ndesolate as orphans and widows. Perhaps there is some thought of the\nloss of God, the supreme Father of Israel. Whether this was in the\nmind of the poet or not, the cry to God to remember His people plainly\nimplies that His sheltering presence was not now consciously\nexperienced. Our Lord foresaw that His departure would smite His\ndisciples with orphanage if He did not return to them.[271] Men who\nhave hardened themselves in a state of separation from God fail to\nrecognise their forlorn condition; but that is no occasion for\ncongratulation, for the family that never misses its father can never\nhave known the joys of true home life. Children of God's house can\nhave no greater sorrow than to lose their heavenly Father's presence.\n\n  [270] For example, Jer. xiv. 7.\n\n  [271] John xiv. 18.\n\nA peculiarly annoying injustice to which the Jews were subjected by\ntheir harsh masters consisted in the fact that they were compelled to\nbuy permission to collect firewood from their own land and to draw\nwater from their own wells.[272] The elegist deplores this grievance\nas part of the reproach of his people. The mere pecuniary fine of a\nseries of petty exactions is not the chief part of the evil. It is not\nthe pain of flesh that rouses a man's indignation on receiving a slap\nin the face; it is the insult that stings. There was more than insult\nin this grinding down of the conquered nation; and the indignities to\nwhich the Jews were subjected were only too much in accord with the\nfacts of their fallen state. This particular exaction was an\nunmistakable symptom of the abject servitude into which they had been\nreduced.\n\n  [272] v. 4.\n\nThe series of illustrations of the degradation of Israel seems to be\narranged somewhat in the order of time and in accordance with the\nmovements of the people. Thus, after describing the state of the Jews\nin their own land, the poet next follows the fortunes of his people\nin exile. There is no mercy for them in their flight. The words in\nwhich the miseries of this time are referred to are somewhat obscure.\nThe phrase in the Authorised Version, \"Our necks are under\npersecution,\"[273] is rendered by the Revisers, \"Our pursuers are\nupon our necks.\" It would seem to mean that the hunt is so close that\nfugitives are on the point of being captured; or perhaps that they are\nmade to bow their heads in defeat as their captors seize them. But a\nproposed emendation substitutes the word \"yoke\" for \"pursuers.\" If we\nmay venture to accept this as a conjectural improvement--and later\ncritics indulge themselves in more freedom in the handling of the text\nthan was formerly permitted--the line points to the burden of\ncaptivity. The next line favours this idea, since it dwells on the\nutter weariness of the miserable fugitives. There is no rest for them.\nPalestine is a difficult country to travel in, and the wilderness\nsouth and east of Jerusalem is especially trying. The hills are steep\nand the roads rocky; for a multitude of famine-stricken men, women,\nand children, driven out over this homeless waste, a country that\ntaxes the strength of the traveller for pleasure could not but be most\nexhausting. But the worst weariness is not muscular. Tired souls are\nmore weary than tired bodies. The yoke of shame and servitude is more\ncrushing than any amount of physical labour. On the other hand the\nyoke of Jesus is easy not because little work is expected of\nChristians, but for the more satisfactory reason that, being given in\nexchange for the fearful burden of sin, it is borne willingly and even\njoyously as a badge of honour.\n\n  [273] v. 5.\n\nFinally, in their exile the Jews are not free from molestation. In\norder to obtain bread they must abase themselves before the people of\nthe land. The fugitives in the south must do homage to the Egyptians;\nthe captives in the east to me Assyrians.[274] Here, then, at the\nvery last stage of the series of miseries, shame and humiliation are\nthe principal grievances deplored. At every point there is a reproach,\nand to this feature of the whole situation God's attention is\nespecially directed.\n\n  [274] v. 6.\n\nNow the elegist turns aside to a reflection on the cause of all this\nevil. It is attributed to the sins of previous generations. The\npresent sufferers are bearing the iniquities of their fathers. Here\nseveral points call for a brief notice. In the first place, the very\nform of the language is significant. What is meant by the phrase to\n_bear iniquity_? Strange mystical meanings are sometimes imported into\nit, such as an actual transference of sin, or at least a taking over\nof guilt. This is asserted of the sin-offering in the law, and then of\nthe sin-bearing of Jesus Christ on the cross. It would indicate\nshallow ways of thinking to say that the simple and obvious meaning of\nan expression in one place is the only signification it is ever\ncapable of conveying. A common process in the development of language\nis for words and phrases that originally contained only plain physical\nmeanings to acquire in course of time deeper and more spiritual\nassociations. We can never fathom all that is meant by the statement\nthat Christ \"His own self bare our sins in His body upon the\ntree.\"[275] Still it is well to observe that there is a plain sense in\nwhich the Hebrew phrase was used. It is clear in the case now before\nus, at all events, that the poet had no mystical ideas in mind. When\nhe said that the children bore the sins of their fathers he simply\nmeant that they reaped the consequences of those sins. The expression\ncan mean nothing else here. It would be well, then, to remember this\nvery simple explanation of it when we are engaged with the discussion\nof other and more difficult passages in which it occurs.\n\n  [275] 1 Peter ii. 24.\n\nBut if the language is perfectly unambiguous the doctrine it implies\nis far from being easy to accept. On the face of it, it seems to be\nglaringly unjust. And yet whether we can reconcile it with our ideas\nof what is equitable or not there can be no doubt that it states a\nterrible truth; we gain nothing by blinking the fact. It was perfectly\nclear to people of the time of the captivity that they were suffering\nfor the persistent misconduct of their ancestors during a succession\nof generations. Long before this the Jews had been warned of the\ndanger of continued rebellion against the will of God. Thus the nation\nhad been treasuring up wrath for the day of wrath. The forbearance\nwhich permitted the first offenders to die in peace before the day of\nreckoning would assume another character for the unhappy generation on\nwhose head the long-pent-up flood at length descended. It is not\nenough to urge in reply that the threat of the second commandment to\nvisit the sins of the fathers upon the children to the third and\nfourth generation was for _them that hate God_; because it is not\nprimarily their own conduct, but the sins of their ancestors, in which\nthe reason for punishing the later generations is found. If these sins\nwere exactly repeated the influence of their parents would make the\npersonal guilt of the later offenders less, not more, than that of the\noriginators of the evil line. Besides, in the case of the Jews there\nhad been some amendment. Josiah's reformation had been very\ndisappointing; and yet the awful wickedness of the reign of Manasseh\nhad not been repeated. The gross idolatry of the earlier times and the\ncruelties of Moloch worship had disappeared. At least, it must be\nadmitted, they were no longer common practices of court and people.\nThe publication of so great an inspired work as the Book of\nDeuteronomy had wrought a marked effect on the religion and morals of\nthe Jews. The age which was called upon to receive the payment for the\nnational sins was not really so wicked as some of the ages that had\nearned it. The same thing is seen in private life. There is nothing\nthat more distresses the author of these poems than the sufferings of\ninnocent children in the siege of Jerusalem. We are frequently\nconfronted with evidences of the fact that the vices of parents\ninflict poverty, dishonour, and disease on their families. This is\njust what the elegist means when he writes of children bearing the\niniquities of their fathers. The fact cannot be disputed.\n\nOften as the problem that here starts up afresh has been discussed, no\nreally satisfactory solution of it has ever been forthcoming. We must\nadmit that we are face to face with one of the most profound mysteries\nof providence. But we may detect some glints of light in the darkness.\nThus, as we have seen on the occasion of a previous reference to this\nquestion,[276] the fundamental principle in accordance with which\nthese perplexing results are brought about is clearly one which on the\nwhole makes for the highest welfare of mankind. That one generation\nshould hand on the fruit of its activity to another is essential to\nthe very idea of progress. The law of heredity and the various\ninfluences that go to make up the evil results in the case before us\nwork powerfully for good under other circumstances; and that the\nbalance is certainly on the side of good, is proved by the fact that\nthe world is moving forward, not backward, as would be the case if the\nbalance of hereditary influence was on the side of evil. Therefore it\nwould be disastrous in the extreme for the laws that pass on the\npunishment of sin to successive generations to be abolished; the\nabolition of them would stop the chariot of progress. Then we have\nseen that the solidarity of the race necessitates both mutual\ninfluences in the present and the continuance of influence from one\nage to another. The great unit _Man_ is far more than the sum of the\nlittle units _men_. We must endure the disadvantages of a system which\nis so essential to the good of man. This, however, is but to fall back\non the Leibnitzian theory of the best of all _possible_ worlds. It is\nnot an absolute vindication of the justice of whatever happens--an\nattainment quite beyond our reach.\n\n  [276] Page 151.\n\nBut another consideration may shed a ray of light on the problem. The\nbearing of the sins of others is for the highest advantage of the\nsufferers. It is difficult to think of any more truly elevating\nsorrows. They resemble our Lord's passion; and of Him it was said that\nHe was made perfect through suffering.[277] Without doubt Israel\nbenefited immensely from the discipline of the Captivity, and we may\nbe sure that the better \"remnant\" was most blessed by this experience\nalthough it was primarily designed to be the chastisement of the more\nguilty. The Jews were regenerated by the baptism of fire. Then they\ncould not ultimately complain of the ordeal that issued in so much\ngood.\n\n  [277] Heb. ii. 10.\n\nIt is to be observed, however, that there were two currents of thought\nwith regard to this problem. While most men held to the ancient\northodoxy, some rose in revolt against the dogma expressed in the\nproverb, \"The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth\nare set on edge.\" Just at this time the prophet Ezekiel was inspired\nto lead the Jews to a more just conception, with the declaration: \"As\nI live, saith the Lord God, ye shall not have occasion any more to use\nthis proverb in Israel. Behold, all souls are mine; as the soul of the\nfather, so also the soul of the son is mine: _the soul that sinneth,\nit shall die_.\"[278] This was the new doctrine. But how could it be\nmade to square with the facts? By strong faith in it the disciples of\nthe advanced school might bring themselves to believe that the course\nof events which had given rise to the old idea would be arrested. But\nif so they would be disappointed; for the world goes on in its\nunvarying way. Happily, as Christians, we may look for the final\nsolution in a future life, when all wrongs shall be righted. It is\nmuch to know that in the great hereafter each soul will be judged\nsimply according to its own character.\n\n  [278] Ezek. xviii. 3, 4.\n\nIn conclusion, as we follow out the course of the elegy, we find the\nsame views maintained that were presented earlier. The idea of\nignominy is still harped upon. The Jews complain that they are under\nthe rule of servants.[279] Satraps were really the Great King's\nslaves, often simply household favourites promoted to posts of honour.\nPossibly the Jews were put in the power of inferior servants. The\npetty tyranny of such persons would be all the more persistently\nannoying, if, as often happens, servility to superiors had bred\ninsolence in bullying the weak; and there was no appeal from the\nvexatious tyranny. This complaint would seem to apply to the people\nleft in the land, for it is the method of the elegist to bring\ntogether scenes from different places as well as scenes from different\ntimes in one picture of concentrated misery. The next point is that\nfood is only procured at the risk of life \"because of the sword of the\nwilderness;\"[280] which seems to mean that the country is so\ndisorganised that hordes of Bedouins hover about and attack the\npeasants when they venture abroad to gather in their harvest. The\nfever of famine is seen on these wretched people; their faces burn as\nthough they had been scorched at an oven.[281] Such is the general\ncondition of the Jews, Such is the scene on which God is begged to\nlook down!\n\n  [279] v. 8.\n\n  [280] v. 9.\n\n  [281] v. 10.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\n_SIN AND SHAME_\n\nv. 11-18\n\n\nThe keynote of the fifth elegy is struck in its opening verse when the\npoet calls upon God to remember the _reproach_ that has been cast upon\nHis people. The preceding poems dwelt on the sufferings of the Jews;\nhere the predominant thought is that of the humiliations to which they\nhave been subjected. The shame of Israel and the sin which had brought\nit on are now set forth with point and force. If, as some think, the\nliterary grace of the earlier compositions is not fully sustained in\nthe last chapter of Lamentations--although in parts of it the feeling\nand imagination and art all touch the high-water mark--it cannot be\ndisputed that the spiritual tone of this elegy indicates an advance on\nthe four earlier poems. We have sometimes met with wild complaints,\nfierce recriminations, deep and terrible curses that seem to require\nsome apology if they are to be justified. Nothing of the kind ruffles\nthe course of this faultless meditation. There is not a single jarring\nnote from beginning to end, not one phrase calling for explanation by\nreference to the limited ideas of Old Testament times or to the\npassion excited by cruelty, insult, and tyranny, not a line that reads\npainfully even in the clear light of the teachings of Jesus Christ.\nThe vilest outrages are deplored; and yet, strange to say, no word of\nvindictiveness towards the perpetrators escapes the lips of the\nmourning patriot! How is this? The sin of the people has been\nconfessed before as the source of all their misery; but since with it\nshame is now associated as the principal item in their affliction, we\ncan see in this fresh development a decided advance towards higher\nviews of the whole position.\n\nMay we not take this characteristic of the concluding chapter of the\nBook of Lamentations to be an indication of progress in the spiritual\nexperience of its author? Perhaps it is to be partially explained by\nthe fact that the poem throughout consists of a prayer addressed\ndirectly to God. The wildest, darkest passions of the soul cannot live\nin the atmosphere of prayer. When men say of the persecutor, \"Behold\nhe prayeth,\" it is certain that he cannot any longer be \"breathing\nthreatening and slaughter.\" Even the feelings of the persecuted must\nbe calmed in the presence of God. The serenity of the surroundings of\nthe mercy-seat cannot but communicate itself to the feverish soul of\nthe suppliant. To draw near to God is to escape from the tumults of\nearth and breathe the still, pure air of heaven. He is Himself so calm\nand strong, so completely sufficient for every emergency, that we\nbegin to enter into His rest as soon as we approach His presence. All\nunawares, perhaps unsought, the peace of God steals into the heart of\nthe man who brings his troubles to his Father in prayer.\n\nThen the reflections that accompany prayer tend in the same direction.\nIn the light of God things begin to assume their true proportions. We\ndiscover that our first fierce outcries were unreasonable, that we had\nbeen simply maddened by pain so that our judgment had been confused.\nA psalmist tells us how he understood the course of events which had\npreviously perplexed him by taking his part in the worship of the\nsanctuary, when referring to his persecutors, the prosperous wicked,\nhe exclaims, \"Then understood I their end.\"[282] In drawing near to\nGod we learn that vengeance is God's prerogative, that He will repay;\ntherefore we can venture to be still and leave the vindication of our\ncause in His unerring hands. But, further, the very thirst for revenge\nis extinguished in the presence of God, and that in several ways: we\nsee that the passion is wrong in itself; we begin to make some\nallowance for the offender; we learn to own kinship with the man while\ncondemning his wickedness; above all, we awake to a keen consciousness\nof our own guilt.\n\n  [282] Psalm lxxiii. 17.\n\nThis, however, is not a sufficient explanation of the remarkable\nchange in tone that we have observed in the fifth elegy. The earlier\npoems contain prayers, one of which degenerates into a direct\nimprecation.[283] If the poet had wholly given himself to prayer in\nthat case as he has done here very possibly his tone would have been\nmollified. Still, we must look to other factors for a complete\nexplanation. The writer is himself one of the suffering people. In\ndescribing their wrongs he is narrating his own, for he is \"the man\nwho has seen affliction.\" Thus he has long been a pupil in the school\nof adversity. There is no school at which a docile pupil learns so\nmuch. This man has graduated in sorrow. It is not surprising that he\nis not just what he was when he matriculated. We must not press the\nanalogy too far, because, as we have seen, there is good reason to\nbelieve that none of the elegies were written until some time after\nthe occurrence of the calamities to which they refer, that therefore\nthey all represent the fruit of long brooding over their theme. And\nyet we may allow an interval to have elapsed between the composition\nof the earlier ones and that of the poem with which the book closes.\nThis period of longer continued reflection may have been utilised in\nthe process of clearing and refining the ideas of the poet. It is not\nmerely that the lessons of adversity impart fresh knowledge or a truer\nway of looking at life and its fortunes. They do the higher work of\neducation--they develop culture. This, indeed, is the greatest\nadvantage to be gained by the stern discipline of sorrow. The soul\nthat has the grace to use it aright is purged and pruned, chastened\nand softened, lifted to higher views, and at the same time brought\ndown from self-esteem to deep humiliation. Here we have a partial\nexplanation of the mystery of suffering. This poem throws light on the\nterrible problem by its very existence, by the spirit and character\nwhich it exhibits. The calmness and self-restraint of the elegy, while\nit deepens the pathos of the whole scene, helps us to see as no direct\nstatement would do, that the chastisement of Israel has not been\ninflicted in vain. There must be good even in the awful miseries here\ndescribed in such patient language.\n\n  [283] Lam. iii. 65.\n\nThe connection of shame with sin in this poem is indirect and along a\nline which is the reverse of the normal course of experience. The poet\ndoes not pass from sin to shame; he proceeds from the thought of shame\nto that of sin. It is the humiliating condition in which the Jews are\nfound that awakens the idea of the shocking guilt of which this is the\nconsequence. We often have occasion to acknowledge the fatal\nhindrance of pride to the right working of conscience. A lofty\nconception of one's own dignity is absolutely inconsistent with a due\nfeeling of guilt. A man cannot be both elated and cast down at the\nsame moment. If his elation is sufficiently sustained from within it\nwill effectually bar the door to the entrance of those humbling\nthoughts which cannot but accompany an admission of sin. Therefore\nwhen this barrier is first removed, and the man is thoroughly humbled,\nhe is open to receive the accusations of conscience. All his\nfortifications have been flung down. There is nothing to prevent the\ninvading army of accusing thoughts from marching straight in and\ntaking possession of the citadel of his heart.\n\nThe elegy takes a turn at the eleventh verse. Up to this point it\ndescribes the state of the people generally in their sufferings from\nthe siege and its consequences. But now the poet directs attention to\nseparate classes of people and the different forms of cruelty to which\nthey are severally subjected in a series of intensely vivid pictures.\nWe see the awful fate of matrons and maidens, princes and elders,\nyoung men and children. Women are subjected to the vilest abuse,\nneither reverence for motherhood nor pity for innocence affording the\nleast protection. Men of royal blood and noble birth are killed and\ntheir corpses hung up in ignominy--perhaps impaled or crucified in\naccordance with the vile Babylonian custom. There is no respect for\nage or office. Neither is there any mercy for youth. In the East\ngrinding is women's work; but, like Samson among the Philistines, the\nyoung men of the Jews are put in charge of the mills. The poet seems\nto indicate that they have to carry the heavy mill-stones in the\nmarch of the returning army with the spoils of the sacked city. The\nchildren are set to the slave task of Gibeonites. The Hebrew word here\ntranslated _children_ might stand for young people who had reached\nadult years.[284] But in the present case the condition is that of\nimmature strength, for the burden of wood they are required to bear is\ntoo heavy for them and they stumble under it. This is the\nscene--outrage for the girls and women, slaughter for the leading men,\nharsh slavery for the children.\n\n  [284] v. 13.\n\nNext, passing from these exact details, the poet again describes the\ncondition of the people more generally, and this time under the image\nof an interrupted feast, which is introduced by one more reference to\nthe changes that have come upon certain classes. The elders are no\nlonger to be seen at the gate administering the primitive forms of law\nentrusted to them. The young men are no longer to be heard performing\non their musical instruments.[285] Still speaking for the people, the\npoet declares that the joy of their heart has ceased. Then the aspect\nof all life must be changed to them. Instead of the gay pictures of\ndancers in their revelry we have the waiting of mourners. The guest at\na feast would be crowned with a garland of flowers. Such was once the\nappearance of Jerusalem in her merry festivities. But now the garland\nhas fallen from her head.[286]\n\n  [285] v. 14.\n\n  [286] v. 15, 16.\n\nThis imagery is a relief after the terrible realism of the immediately\npreceding pictures. We cannot bear to look continuously at scenes of\nagony, nor is it well that we should attempt to do so, because if we\ncould succeed it would only be by becoming callous. Then the final\nresult would be not to excite deeper sympathy, but the very reverse,\nand at the same time a distinctly lowering and coarsening effect would\nbe produced in us. And yet we may not smother up abuses in order to\nspare our own feelings. There are evils that must be dragged out to\nthe light in order that they may be execrated, punished, and\ndestroyed. _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ broke the back of American slavery\nbefore President Lincoln attacked it. Where, then, shall we find the\nmiddle position between repulsive realism and guilty negligence? We\nhave the model for this in the Biblical treatment of painful subjects.\nScripture never gloats over the details of crimes and vices; yet\nScripture never flinches from describing such things in the plainest\npossible terms. If these subjects are ever to become the theme of\nart--and art claims the whole of life for her domain--imagination must\ncarry us away to the secondary effects rather than vivify the hideous\noccurrences themselves. The passage before us affords an excellent\nillustration of this method. With a few keen, clear strokes the poet\nsketches in the exact situation. But he shows no disposition to linger\non ghastly details. Though he does not shrink from setting them before\nus in unmistakable truth of form and colour, he hastens to a more\nideal treatment of the subject, and relieves us with the imaginary\npicture of the spoiled banquet. Even Spenser sometimes excites a\nfeeling of positive nausea when he enlarges on some most loathsome\npicture. It would be unendurable except that the great Elizabethan\npoet has woven the witchery of his dainty fancy into the fabric of his\nverse. Thus things can be said in poetry which would be unbearable in\nprose, because poetry refines with the aid of imagination the tale\nthat it does not shrink from telling quite truly and most forcibly.\n\nThe change in the poet's style prepares for another effect. While we\nare contemplating the exact details of the sufferings of the different\nclasses of outraged citizens, the insult and cruelty and utter\nabomination of these scenes rouse our indignation against the\nperpetrators of the foulest crimes, and leave nothing but pity for\ntheir victims. It is not in the presence of such events that the sins\nof Israel can be brought home to the people or even called to mind.\nThe attempt to introduce the thought of them there would seem to be a\npiece of heartless officiousness. And yet it is most important to\nperceive the connection between all this misery and the previous\nmisconduct of the Jews which was its real cause. Accordingly\nintermediate reflections, while they let the scenes of blood and\nterror recede, touch on the general character of the whole in a way\nthat permits of more heart-searching self-examination. Thus out of the\nbrooding melancholy of this secondary grief we are led to a distinct\nconfession of sin on the part of the people.[287]\n\n  [287] v. 16.\n\nThis is the main result aimed at throughout the whole course of\nchastisement. Until it has been reached little good can be effected.\nWhen it is attained the discipline has already wrought its greatest\nwork. As we saw at the outset, it is the shame of the situation that\nawakens a consciousness of guilt. Humbled and penitent, the chastened\npeople are just in the position at which God can meet them in gracious\npardon. Strictly speaking, perhaps we should say that this is the\nposition to which the elegist desires to lead them by thus appearing\nas their spokesman. And yet we should not make too sharp a distinction\nbetween the poet and his people. The elegy is not a didactic work; the\nflavour of its gentle lines would be lost directly they lent\nthemselves to pedagogic ends. It is only just to take the words before\nus quite directly, as they are written in the first person plural, for\na description of the thoughts of at least the group of Jews with whom\ntheir author was associated.\n\nThe confession of sin implies in the first place a recognition of its\nexistence. This is more than a bare, undeniable recollection that the\ndeed was done. It is possible by a kind of intellectual jugglery even\nto come to a virtual denial of this fact in one's own consciousness.\nBut to admit the deed is not to admit the sin. The casuistry of\nself-defence before the court of self-judgment is more subtle than\nsound, as every one who has found out his own heart must be aware. In\nthis matter \"the heart is deceitful above all things.\"[288] Now it is\nnot difficult to take part in a decorous service where all the\ncongregation are expected to denominate themselves miserable\noffenders, but it is an entirely different thing to retreat into the\nsilent chamber of our own thought, and there calmly and deliberately,\nwith full consciousness of what the words mean, confess to ourselves,\n\"We have sinned.\" The sinking of heart, the stinging humiliation, the\nsense of self-loathing which such an admission produces, are the most\nmiserable experiences in life. The wretchedness of it all is that\nthere is no possibility of escaping the accuser when he is self. We\ncan do nothing but let the shame of the deed burn in the conscience\nwithout any mollifying salve--until the healing of Divine forgiveness\nis received.\n\n  [288] Jer. xvii. 9.\n\nBut, in the second place, confession of sin goes beyond the secret\nadmission of it by the conscience, as in a case heard _in camera_.\nChiefly it is a frank avowal of guilt before God. This is treated by\nSt. John as an essential condition of forgiveness by God, when He\nsays, \"If we confess our sins, He is faithful and righteous to forgive\nus our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.\"[289] How far\nconfession should also be made to our fellow-men is a difficult\nquestion. In bidding us confess our \"faults one to another,\"[290] St.\nJames may be simply requiring that when we have done anybody a wrong\nwe should own it to the injured person. The harsh discipline of the\nwhite sheet is not found in apostolic times, the brotherly spirit of\nwhich is seen in the charity which \"covereth a multitude of\nsins.\"[291] And yet, on the other hand, the true penitent will always\nshrink from sailing under false colours. Certainly public offences\ncall for public acknowledgment, and all sin should be so far owned\nthat whether the details are known or not there is no actual\ndeception, no hypocritical pretence at a virtue that is not possessed,\nno willingness to accept honours that are quite unmerited. Let a man\nnever pretend to be sinless, nay, let him distinctly own himself a\nsinner, and, in particular, let him not deny or excuse any specific\nwickedness with which he is justly accused; and then for the rest, \"to\nhis own lord he standeth or falleth.\"[292]\n\n  [289] 1 John i. 9.\n\n  [290] James v. 16.\n\n  [291] 1 Peter iv. 8.\n\n  [292] Rom. xiv. 4.\n\nWhen the elegist follows his confession of sin with the words, \"For\nthis our heart is faint,\" etc.,[293] it is plain that he attributes\nthe sense of failure and impotence to the guilt that has led to the\nchastisement. This faintness of heart and the dimness of sight that\naccompanies it, like the condition of a swooning person, suggest a\nvery different situation from that of the hero struggling against a\nmountain of difficulties, or that of the martyr triumphing over\ntorture and death. The humiliation is now accounted for, and the\nexplanation of it tears to shreds the last rag of pride with which the\nfallen people might have attempted to hide it. The abject wretchedness\nof the Jews is admitted to be the effect of their own sins. No thought\ncan be more depressing. The desolation of Mount Zion, where jackals\nprowl undisturbed as though it were the wilderness,[294] is a standing\ntestimony to the sin of Israel. Such is the degradation to which the\npeople whom the elegist here represents are reduced. It is a condition\nof utter helplessness; and yet in it will rise the dawn of hope; for\nwhen man is most empty of self he is most ready to receive God. Thus\nit is that from the deepest pit of humiliation there springs the\nprayer of trust and hope with which the Book of Lamentations closes.\n\n  [293] v. 17.\n\n  [294] ver. 18.\n\n\n\n\nChapter XXIV\n\n_THE EVERLASTING THRONE_\n\nv. 19-22\n\n\nWe have lingered long in the valley of humiliation.\n\nAt the eleventh hour we are directed to look up from this scene of\nweary gloom to heavenly heights, radiant in sunlight. It is not by\naccident that the new attitude is suggested only at the very end of\nthe last elegy. The course of the thought and the course of experience\nthat underlies it have been preparing for the change. On entering the\nvalley the traveller must look well to his feet; it is not till he has\nbeen a denizen of it for some time that he is able to lift up his eyes\nto other and brighter realms.\n\nThus at last our attention is turned from earth to heaven, from man to\nGod. In this change of vision the mood which gave rise to the\nLamentations disappears. Since earthly things lose their value in view\nof the treasures in heaven, the ruin of them also becomes of less\naccount. Thus we read in the _Imitatio_:\n\n  \"The life of man is always looking on the things of time,\n  Pleased with the pelf of earth,\n  Gloomy at loss,\n  Pricked by the least injurious word;\n  Life touched by God looks on the eternal,--\n  With it no cleaving unto time,\n  No frown when property is lost,\n  No sneer when words are harsh,--\n  Because it puts its treasure and its joy in heaven,\n  Where nothing fades.\"\n\nThe explanation of this sudden turn is to be found in the fact that\nfor the moment the poet forgets himself and his surroundings in a rapt\ncontemplation of God. This is the glory of adoration, the very highest\nform of prayer, that prayer in which a man comes nearest to the\ncondition ascribed to angels and the spirits of the blessed who\nsurround the throne and gaze on the eternal light. It is not to be\nthought of as an idle dreaming like the dreary abstraction of the\nIndian fanatic who has drilled himself to forget the outside world by\nreducing his mind to a state of vacancy while he repeats the\nmeaningless syllable Om, or the senseless ecstasy of the monk of Mount\nAthos, who has attained the highest object of his ambition when he\nthinks he has beheld the sacred light within his own body. It is\nself-forgetful, not self-centred; and it is occupied with the\ncontemplation of those great truths of the being of God, absorption in\nwhich is an inspiration. Here the worshipper is at the river of the\nwater of life, from which if he drinks he will go away refreshed for\nthe battle like the Red-cross knight restored at the healing fountain.\nIt is the misfortune of our own age that it is impractical in the\nexcess of its practicalness when it has not patience for those quiet,\ncalm experiences of pure worship which are the very food of the soul.\n\nThe continuance of the throne of God is the idea that now lays hold of\nthe elegist as he turns his thoughts from the miserable scenes of the\nruined city to the glory above. This is brought home to his\nconsciousness by the fleeting nature of all things earthly. He has\nexperienced what the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews describes as\n\"the removing of those things that are shaken, as of things that have\nbeen made, that those things which are not shaken may remain.\"[295]\nThe throne of David has been swept away; but above the earthly wreck\nthe throne of God stands firm, all the more clearly visible now that\nthe distracting influence of the lower object has vanished, all the\nmore valuable now that no other refuge can be found. Men fall like\nleaves in autumn; one generation follows another in the swift march to\ndeath; dynasties which outlive many generations have their day, to be\nsucceeded by others of an equally temporary character; kingdoms reach\ntheir zenith, decline and fall. God only remains, eternal,\nunchangeable. His is the only throne that stands secure above every\nrevolution.\n\n  [295] Heb. xii. 27.\n\nThe unwavering faith of our poet is apparent at this point after it\nhas been tried by the most severe tests. Jerusalem has been destroyed,\nher king has fallen into the hands of the enemy, her people have been\nscattered; and yet the elegist has not the faintest doubt that her God\nremains and that His throne is steadfast, immovable, everlasting. This\nfaith reveals a conviction far in advance of that of the surrounding\nheathen. The common idea was that the defeat of a people was also the\ndefeat of their gods. If the national divinities were not exterminated\nthey were flung down from their thrones, and reduced to the condition\nof _jins_--demons who avenged themselves on their conquerors by\nannoying them whenever an opportunity for doing so arose, but with\ngreatly crippled resources. No such notion is ever entertained by the\nauthor of these poems nor by any of the Hebrew prophets. The fall of\nIsrael in no way affects the throne of God; it is even brought about\nby His will; it could not have occurred if He had been pleased to\nhinder it.\n\nThus the poet was led to find his hope and refuge in the throne of\nGod, the circumstances of his time concurring to turn his thoughts in\nthis direction, since the disappearance of the national throne, the\nchaos of the sacked city, and the establishment of a new government\nunder the galling yoke of slaves from Babylon, invited the man of\nfaith to look above the shifting powers of earth to the everlasting\nsupremacy of heaven.\n\nThis idea of the elegist is in line with a familiar stream of Hebrew\nthought, and his very words have many an echo in the language of\nprophet and psalmist, as, for example, in the forty-fifth psalm, where\nwe read, \"Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever.\"\n\nThe grand Messianic hope is founded on the conviction that the\nultimate establishment of God's reign throughout the world will be the\nbest blessing imaginable for all mankind. Sometimes this is associated\nwith the advent of a Divinely anointed earthly monarch of the line of\nDavid. At other times God's direct sovereignty is expected to be\nmanifested in the \"Day of the Lord.\" The failure of the feeble\nZedekiah seems to have discredited the national hopes centred in the\nroyal family. For two generations they slumbered, to be awakened in\nconnection with another disappointing descendant of David, Zerubbabel,\nthe leader of the return. No king was ever equal to the satisfaction\nof these hopes until the Promised One appeared in the fulness of the\ntimes, until Jesus was born into the world to come forth as the Lord's\nChrist. Meanwhile, since the royal house is under a cloud, the\nessential Messianic hope turns to God alone. He can deliver His\npeople, and He only. Even apart from personal hopes of rescue, the\nvery idea of the eternal, just reign of God above the transitory\nthrones of men is a calming, reassuring thought.\n\nIt is strange that this idea should ever have lost its fascination\namong Christian people, who have so much more gracious a revelation of\nGod than was given to the Jews under the old covenant; and yet our\nLord's teachings concerning the Fatherhood of God have been set forth\nas the direct antithesis of the Divine sovereignty, while the latter\nhas been treated as a stern and dreadful function from which it was\nnatural to shrink with fear and trembling. But the truth is the two\nattributes are mutually illustrative; for he is a very imperfect\nfather who does not rule his own house, and he is a very inadequate\nsovereign who does not seek to exercise parental functions towards his\npeople. Accordingly, the gospel of Christ is the gospel of the\nkingdom. Thus the good news declared by the first evangelists was to\nthe effect that the kingdom of God was at hand, and our Lord taught us\nto pray, \"Thy kingdom come.\" For Christians, at least as much as for\nJews, the eternal sovereignty of God should be a source of profound\nconfidence, inspiring hope and joy.\n\nNow the elegist ventures to expostulate with God on the ground of the\neternity of His throne. God had not abdicated, though the earthly\nmonarch had been driven from his kingdom. The overthrow of Zedekiah\nhad left the throne of God untouched. Then it was not owing to\ninability to come to the aid of the suffering people that the eternal\nKing did not intervene to put an end to their miseries. A long time\nhad passed since the siege, and still the Jews were in distress. It\nwas as though God had forgotten them or voluntarily forsaken them.\nThis is a dilemma to which we are often driven. If God is almighty can\nHe be also all-merciful? If what we knew furnished all the possible\ndata of the problem this would be indeed a serious position. But our\nignorance silences us.\n\nSome hint of an explanation is given in the next phrase of the poet's\nprayer. God is besought to turn the people to Himself. Then they had\nbeen moving away from him. It is like the old popular ideas of sunset.\nPeople thought the sun had forsaken the earth, when, in fact, their\npart of the earth had forsaken the sun. But if the wrong is on man's\nside on man's side must be the amendment. Under these circumstances it\nis needless and unjust to speculate as to the cause of God's supposed\nneglect or forgetfulness.\n\nThere can be no reasonable doubt that the language of the elegy here\npoints to a personal and spiritual change. We cannot water it down to\nthe expression of a desire to be restored to Palestine. Nor is it\nenough to take it as a prayer to be restored to God's favour. The\ndouble expression,\n\n  \"Turn Thou us unto Thee, O Lord, _and we shall be turned_,\"\n\npoints to a deeper longing, a longing for real conversion, the turning\nround of the heart and life to God, the return of the prodigal to his\nFather. We think of the education of the race, the development of\nmankind, the culture of the soul; and in so thinking we direct our\nattention to important truths which were not so well within the reach\nof our forefathers. On the other hand, are we not in danger of\noverlooking another series of reflections on which they dwelt more\npersistently? It is not the fact that the world is marching straight\non to perfection in an unbroken line of evolution. There are breaks in\nthe progress and long halts, deviations from the course and retrograde\nmovements. We err and go astray, and then continuance in an evil way\ndoes not bring us out to any position of advance; it only plunges us\ndown deeper falls of ruin. Under such circumstances, a more radical\nchange than anything progress or education can produce is called for\nif ever we are even to recover our lost ground, not to speak of\nadvancing to higher attainments. In the case of Israel it was clear\nthat there could be no hope until the nation made a complete moral and\nreligious revolution. The same necessity lies before every soul that\nhas drifted into the wrong way. This subject has been discredited by\nbeing treated too much in the abstract, with too little regard for the\nactual condition of men and women. The first question is, What is the\ntendency of the life? If that is away from God, it is needless to\ndiscuss theories of conversion; the fact is plain that in the present\ninstance some conversion is needed. There is no reason to retain a\ntechnical term, and perhaps it would be as well to abandon it if it\nwere found to be degenerating into a mere cant phrase. This is not a\nquestion of words. The urgent necessity is concerned with the actual\nturning round of the leading pursuits of life.\n\nIn the next place, it is to be observed that the turning here\ncontemplated is positive in its aims, not merely a flight from the\nwrong way. It is not enough to cast out the evil spirit, and leave the\nhouse swept and garnished, but without a tenant to take care of it.\nEvil can only be overcome by good. To turn from sin to blank vacancy\nand nothingness is an impossibility. The great motive must be the\nattraction of a better course rather than revulsion from the old life.\nThis is the reason why the preaching of the gospel of Christ succeeds\nwhere pure appeals to conscience fail.\n\nBy his _Serious Call to the Unconverted_ William Law started a few\nearnest men thinking; but he could not anticipate the Methodist\nrevival although he prepared the way for it. The reason seems to be\nthat appeals to conscience are depressing, necessarily and rightly so;\nbut some cheering encouragement is called for if energy is to be found\nfor the tremendous effort of turning the whole life upon its axle.\nTherefore it is not the threat of wrath but the gospel of mercy that\nleads to what may be truly called conversion.\n\nThen we may notice, further, that the particular aim of the change\nhere indicated is to turn back to God. As sin is forsaking God, so the\ncommencement of a better life must consist in a return to Him. But\nthis is not to be regarded as a means towards some other end. We must\nnot have the home-coming made use of as a mere convenience. It must be\nan end in itself, and the chief end of the prayer and effort of the\nsoul, or it can be nothing at all. It appears as such in the passage\nnow under consideration. The elegist writes as though he and the\npeople whom he represents had arrived at the conviction that their\nsupreme need was to be brought back into near and happy relations with\nGod. The hunger for God breathes through these words. This is the\ntruest, deepest, most Divine longing of the soul. When once it is\nawakened we may be sure that it will be satisfied. The hopelessness of\nthe condition of so many people is not only that they are estranged\nfrom God, but that they have no desire to be reconciled to Him. Then\nthe kindling of this desire is itself a great step towards the\nreconciliation.\n\nAnd yet the good wish is not enough by itself to attain its object.\nThe prayer is for God to turn the people back to Himself. We see here\nthe mutual relations of the human and the Divine in the process of the\nrecovery of souls. So long as there is no willingness to return to God\nnothing can be done to force that action on the wanderer. The first\nnecessity, therefore, is to awaken the prayer which seeks restoration.\nBut this prayer must be for the action of God. The poet knows that it\nis useless simply to resolve to turn. Such a resolution may be\nrepeated a thousand times without any result following, because the\nfatal poison of sin is like a snake bite that paralyses its victims.\nThus we read in the _Theologia Germanica_, \"And in this bringing back\nand healing, I can, or may, or shall do nothing of myself, but simply\nyield to God, so that He alone may do all things in me and work, and I\nmay suffer Him and all His work and His Divine will.\" The real\ndifficulty is not to change our own hearts and lives; that is\nimpossible. And it is not expected of us. The real difficulty is\nrather to reach a consciousness of our own disability. It takes the\nform of unwillingness to trust ourselves entirely to God for Him to do\nfor us and in us just whatever He will.\n\nThe poet is perfectly confident that when God takes His people in hand\nto lead them round to Himself He will surely do so. If He turns them\nthey will be turned. The words suggest that previous efforts had been\nmade from other quarters, and had failed. The prophets, speaking from\nGod, had urged repentance, but their words had been ineffectual. It is\nonly when God undertakes the work that there is any chance of\nsuccess. But then success is certain. This truth was illustrated in\nthe preaching of the cross by St. Paul at Corinth, where it was found\nto be the _power_ of God. It is seen repeatedly in the fact that the\nworst, the oldest, the most hardened are brought round to a new life\nby the miracle of redeeming power. Herein we have the root principle\nof Calvinism, the secret of the marvellous vigour of a system which,\nat the first blush of it, would seem to be depressing rather than\nencouraging. Calvinism directed the thoughts of its disciples away\nfrom self, and man, and the world, for the inspiration of all life and\nenergy. It bade them confess their own impotence and God's\nalmightiness. All who could trust themselves to such a faith would\nfind the secret of victory.\n\nNext, we see that the return is to be a renewal of a previous\ncondition. The poet prays, \"Renew our days as of old\"--a phrase which\nsuggests the recovery of apostates. Possibly here we have some\nreference to more external conditions. There is a hope that the\nprosperity of the former times may be brought back. And yet the\nprevious line, which is concerned with the spiritual return to God,\nshould lead us to take this one also in a spiritual sense. We think of\nCowper's melancholy regret--\n\n  \"Where is the blessedness I knew\n  When first I saw the Lord?\"\n\nThe memory of a lost blessing makes the prayer for restoration the\nmore intense. It is of God's exceeding lovingkindness that His\ncompassions fail not, so that He does not refuse another opportunity\nto those who have proved faithless in the past. In some respects\nrestoration is more difficult than a new beginning. The past will not\ncome back. The innocence of childhood, when once it is lost, can never\nbe restored. That first, fresh bloom of youth is irrecoverable. On the\nother hand, what the restoration lacks in one respect may be more than\nmade up in other directions. Though the old paradise will not be\nregained, though it has withered long since, and the site of it has\nbecome a desert, God will create new heavens and a new earth which\nshall be better than the lost past. And this new state will be a real\nredemption, a genuine recovery of what was essential to the old\ncondition. The vision of God had been enjoyed in the old, simple days,\nand though to weary watchers sobered by a sad experience, the vision\nof God will be restored in the more blessed future.\n\nIn our English Bible the last verse of the chapter reads like a final\noutburst of the language of despair. It seems to say that the prayer\nis all in vain, for God has utterly forsaken His people. So it was\nunderstood by the Jewish critics who arranged to repeat the previous\nverse at the end of the chapter to save the omen, that the Book should\nnot conclude with so gloomy a thought. But another rendering is now\ngenerally accepted, though our Revisers have only placed it in the\nmargin. According to this we read, \"_Unless_ Thou hast utterly\nrejected us,\" etc. There is still a melancholy tone in the sentence,\nas there is throughout the Book that it concludes; but this is\nsoftened, and now it by no means breathes the spirit of despair. Turn\nit round, and the phrase will even contain an encouragement. If God\nhas not utterly rejected His people assuredly He will attend to their\nprayer to be restored to Him. But it cannot be that He has quite cast\nthem off. Then it must be that He will respond and turn them back to\nHimself. If our hope is only conditioned by the question whether God\nhas utterly forsaken us it is perfectly safe, because the one\nimaginable cause of shipwreck can never arise. There is but one thing\nthat might make our trust in God vain and fruitless; and that one\nthing is impossible, nay, inconceivable. So wide and deep is our\nFather's love, so firm is the adamantine strength of His eternal\nfidelity, we may be absolutely confident that, though the mountains be\nremoved and cast into the sea, and though the solid earth melt away\nbeneath our feet, He will still abide as the internal Refuge of His\nchildren, and therefore that He will never fail to welcome all who\nseek His grace to help them return to Him in true penitence and filial\ntrust. Thus we are led even by this most melancholy book in the Bible\nto see, as with eyes purged by tears, that the love of God is greater\nthan the sorrow of man, and His redeeming power more mighty than the\nsin which lies at the root of the worst of that sorrow, the eternity\nof His throne, in spite of the present havoc of evil in the universe,\nassuring us that the end of all will be not a mournful elegy, but a\npaean of victory.\n\n_Printed by Hazell Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._\n\n\n\n\nTHE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE.\n\n_Crown 8vo, cloth, price 7s. 6d. each vol._\n\n  FIRST SERIES, 1887-8.\n\n  Colossians.\n  By A. MACLAREN, D.D.\n\n  St. Mark.\n  By Very Rev. the Dean of Armagh.\n\n  Genesis.\n  By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.\n\n  1 Samuel.\n  By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.\n\n  2 Samuel.\n  By the same Author.\n\n  Hebrews.\n  By Principal T. C. EDWARDS, D.D.\n\n\n  SECOND SERIES, 1888-9.\n\n  Galatians.\n  By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A.\n\n  The Pastoral Epistles.\n  By Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.\n\n  Isaiah I.-XXXIX.\n  By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D.\n  Vol. I.\n\n  The Book of Revelation.\n  By Prof. W. MILLIGAN, D.D.\n\n  1 Corinthians.\n  By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.\n\n  The Epistles of St. John.\n  By Rt. Rev. W. ALEXANDER, D.D.\n\n\n  THIRD SERIES, 1889-90.\n\n  Judges and Ruth.\n  By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.\n\n  Jeremiah.\n  By Rev. C. J. BALL, M.A.\n\n  Isaiah XL.-LXVI.\n  By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D.\n  Vol. II.\n\n  St. Matthew.\n  By Rev. J. MONRO GIBSON, D.D.\n\n  Exodus.\n  By Very Rev. the Dean of Armagh.\n\n  St. Luke.\n  By Rev. H. BURTON, M.A.\n\n\n  FOURTH SERIES, 1890-1.\n\n  Ecclesiastes.\n  By Rev. SAMUEL COX, D.D.\n\n  St. James and St. Jude.\n  By Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.\n\n  Proverbs.\n  By Rev. R. F. HORTON, D.D.\n\n  Leviticus.\n  By Rev. S. H. KELLOGG, D.D.\n\n  The Gospel of St. John.\n  By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. I.\n\n  The Acts of the Apostles.\n  By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. I.\n\n\n  FIFTH SERIES, 1891-2.\n\n  The Psalms.\n  By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. I.\n\n  1 and 2 Thessalonians.\n  By JAMES DENNEY, D.D.\n\n  The Book of Job.\n  By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.\n\n  Ephesians.\n  By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A.\n\n  The Gospel of St. John.\n  By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. II.\n\n  The Acts of the Apostles.\n  By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. II.\n\n\n  SIXTH SERIES, 1892-3.\n\n  1 Kings.\n  By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.\n\n  Philippians.\n  By Principal RAINY, D.D.\n\n  Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther.\n  By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.\n\n  Joshua.\n  By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.\n\n  The Psalms.\n  By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. II.\n\n  The Epistles of St. Peter.\n  By Prof. RAWSON LUMBY, D.D.\n\n\n  SEVENTH SERIES, 1893-4.\n\n  2 Kings.\n  By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.\n\n  Romans.\n  By H. C. G. MOULE, M.A.\n\n  The Books of Chronicles.\n  By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, M.A.\n\n  2 Corinthians.\n  By JAMES DENNEY, D.D.\n\n  Numbers.\n  By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.\n\n  The Psalms.\n  By A. MACLAREN, D. D. Vol. III.\n\n\n  EIGHTH SERIES, 1895-6.\n\n  Daniel.\n  By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.\n\n  The Book of Jeremiah.\n  By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, M.A.\n\n  Deuteronomy.\n  By Prof. ANDREW HARPER, B.D.\n\n  The Song of Solomon and\n  Lamentations.\n  By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.\n\n  Ezekiel.\n  By Prof. JOHN SKINNER, M.A.\n\n  The Minor Prophets.\n  By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D.\n  Two Vols.\n\n\n\n\n  WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.\n\n\n  I.\n\n  IN THE \"EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE.\"\n\n  EZRA, NEHEMIAH, AND ESTHER.\n\n\n  \"Fully merits a place in the excellent series to which it belongs.\n  The lectures contained in it are real 'Expositions.' There is no\n  padding in them, and the homiletical element is quite subordinate.\n  Mr. Adeney writes in a pleasant, easy style, and has a clever way of\n  arranging his material, which serves well to sustain the interest and\n  attention of his reader.\"--_Guardian._\n\n  \"The author is happy in having to deal with a period of the first\n  moment in the fortunes of Israel and its literature, and which is at\n  the same time illuminated by the broad daylight of verifiable history.\n  A distinct merit of Mr. Adeney's work is the realism which he has\n  thrown into the great and pathetic story he handles, and which\n  makes its every stage and incident to throb with actuality.\"--_Christian\n  World._\n\n\n  II.\n\n  IN THE \"THEOLOGICAL EDUCATOR.\"\n\n  THE THEOLOGY OF THE NEW\n  TESTAMENT.\n\n  CONTENTS:--The Teaching of Jesus Christ--The Theology of the\n  Apostles--The Pauline Type--The Theology of the Epistle to the\n  Hebrews--The Johannine Type.\n\n  \"It is a clear succinct treatise.\"--_Record._\n\n  \"As an introduction to the subject there is no better book than\n  this. It is thoroughly up to date, sound in spirit and in substance,\n  and well compacted together.\"--_Methodist Times._\n\n  \"The book throughout is an exceedingly lucid, compact and informing\n  summary, interestingly written, and sure to be of great use\n  to the student. The volume is remarkable for the amount of carefully\n  studied and tersely put matter which is packed into it.\"--_Critical\n  Review._\n\n\n  LONDON: Hodder & Stoughton, 27, PATERNOSTER ROW.\n\n\n\n\n  _WORKS BY THE REV. PRINCIPAL FAIRBAIRN, D.D._\n\n  CHRIST IN MODERN THEOLOGY. By A.M.\n  FAIRBAIRN, D.D., Principal of Mansfield College, Oxford.\n\n  _Sixth Edition. 8vo, cloth, 12s._\n\n\n  \"His work is, without doubt, one of the most valuable and comprehensive\n  contributions to theology that has been made during this\n  generation.\"--_The Spectator._\n\n  \"The volume before us is the most weighty and important which\n  he has yet issued. His treatises entitled 'Studies in the Life of\n  Christ' and 'A City of God' contain much great value, but in a sense\n  they gave promise of better things to come, and this promise has\n  been amply fulfilled ... in this very able and learned and altogether\n  admirable discussion on 'The Place of Christ in Modern Theology.\"--\n       _Scotsman._\n\n  \"A more vivid summary of Church history has never been given.\n  With its swift characterisation of schools and politics, with its subtle\n  tracings of the development of various tendencies through the influence\n  of their environment, of reaction, and of polemic; with its\n  contrasts of different systems, philosophies, and races; with its\n  portraits of men; with its sense of progress and revolt--this part of\n  Dr. Fairbairn's book is no mere annal, but drama, vivid and full\n  of motion, representative of the volume and sweep of Christianity\n  through the centuries.\"--_Speaker._\n\n\n  RELIGION IN HISTORY AND IN\n  MODERN LIFE.\n\n  Together with an Essay on the Church and the Working Classes.\n\n  _Ninth Thousand. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d._\n\n\n  THE CITY OF GOD.\n\n  A Series of Discussions in Religion.\n\n  _Fifth Edition. 8vo, cloth, 7s. 6d._\n\n  \"We find in the discourses which form this volume much able statement\n  and much vigorous thought, and an admirable comprehension of the\n  great questions which are being discussed in our day with eagerness\n  and bated breath.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n\n  STUDIES IN THE LIFE OF CHRIST.\n\n  _Seventh Edition. Demy 8vo, 9s._\n\n  \"There is ample room for Professor Fairbairn's thoughtful and\n  brilliant sketches. Dr. Fairbairn's is not the base rhetoric often\n  employed to hide want of thought or poverty of thought, but the\n  noble rhetoric which is alive with thought and imagination to its\n  utmost and finest extremities.\"--_Expositor._\n\n\n\n\n  _WORKS BY THE LATE DR. R. W. DALE, of Birmingham._\n\n  FELLOWSHIP WITH CHRIST\n\n  And other Discourses Delivered on Special Occasions.\n\n  _Fourth Thousand. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s._\n\n\n  \"These are certainly among the most massive, and, as a consequence,\n  most impressive sermons of the day. Each is a sort of miniature\n  theological treatise, but the theology is alive--as it were, heated\n  through and through by the fires of a mighty conviction, which has\n  become a passion to convince.... In these sermons there is a fine\n  universalism; they might be addressed to any audience--academic,\n  professional, commercial, artisan. And to hear them would be to feel\n  that religion is a thing to be believed and obeyed.\"--_Speaker._\n\n\n  THE LIVING CHRIST AND THE FOUR\n  GOSPELS.\n\n  _Eighth Thousand. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s._\n\n  \"As a man of culture and eloquence he has put the case strongly\n  and well, and it will not be surprising if his book, which is not\n  written, he tells us, for Masters of Arts, but in the first instance\n  for members of his own congregation, and then for all ordinary people\n  who take an interest in such matters, should be the means of convincing\n  many that the assumptions sometimes made about late origin of the\n  Gospels, etc., are utterly unfounded.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n\n  LAWS OF CHRIST FOR COMMON LIFE.\n\n  _Seventh Thousand. Crown 8vo, 6s._\n\n  \"Sound sense and wholesome Christian teaching conveyed in pure,\n  idiomatic, and forcible English.\"--_Scotsman._\n\n  \"A storehouse of wise precepts, a repository of loving counsels--shrewd,\n  practical, and fully cognisant of difficulties and drawbacks;\n  but informed by such sympathy and a sense of Christian brotherhood as\n  should do much to make it acceptable and effective.\"--_Nonconformist._\n\n\n  CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE.\n\n  A Series of Discourses.\n\n  _Fourth Thousand. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s._\n\n  \"Like everything that Dr. Dale writes, these discourses are eminently\n  thoughtful and suggestive. Even when the topics discussed\n  are thoroughly familiar, there is a freshness and originality in the\n  treatment of them which makes the reader feel that he is well repaid\n  for going over old ground. In days such as these, when loud voices\n  are proclaiming that the doctrines of the Holy Trinity and Incarnation\n  are metaphysical subtleties, 'sectarian' and 'denominational' dogmas,\n  it is refreshing to note the power and outspoken vindication of them\n  which is here set before us.\"--_Guardian._\n\n\n\n  _WORKS BY THE LATE DR. R. W. DALE (continued)</i>._\n\n  NINE LECTURES ON PREACHING.\n\n  _Seventh Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s._\n\n  \"Admirable lectures, briefly written, earnest and practical.\"--_Literary\n  Churchman._\n\n  \"Dr. Dale's lectures are full of practical wisdom and intense\n  devotion.\"--_The Expositor._\n\n\n  THE JEWISH TEMPLE AND THE\n  CHRISTIAN CHURCH.\n\n  A Series of Discourses on the Epistle to the Hebrews.\n\n  _Ninth Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s._\n\n  \"Wholesomer sermons than these it is almost impossible to conceive.\n  Mr. Dale's preaching has always been remarkable for moral\n  energy and fervour, but here this characteristic rises to its highest\n  power.\"--_Expositor._\n\n\n  THE EPISTLE TO THE EPHESIANS.\n\n  Its Doctrines and Ethics.\n\n  _Seventh Edition. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d._\n\n  \"The terse and vigorous style, rising on occasion into a manly and\n  impressive eloquence, of which Mr. Dale is known to be a master,\n  gives lucid expression to thought that is precise, courageous, and\n  original.\"--_Spectator._\n\n\n  WEEK-DAY SERMONS.\n\n  _Sixth Edition. Crown 8vo, 3s, 6d._\n\n  \"Dr. Dale is certainly an admirable teacher of Christian ethics. He\n  is, perhaps, the greatest living successor of the Apostle James. In\n  this volume he appears at his best.\"--_Christian._\n\n\n  THE TEN COMMANDMENTS.\n\n  _Sixth Edition. Crown 8vo, 5s._\n\n  \"Full of thought and vigour.\"--_Spectator._\n\n\n  IMPRESSIONS OF AUSTRALIA.\n\n  _Crown 8vo, cloth, 5s._\n\n  \"Dr. Dale's articles ... constitute one of the most sensible books\n  about Australia.... The book is readable, and indeed excellent.\"--\n  _Athenaeum._\n\n\n  THE NEW EVANGELICALISM AND\n  THE OLD.\n\n  _Cloth, 1s._\n\n  \"It has more in it than many an elaborate treatise; it suggests by\n  every sentence; it is throughout succinct, pregnant, masterly.\"--_British\n  Weekly._\n\n\n\n\n  _50,000 COPIES HAVE NOW BEEN PRINTED OF DR. MILLER'S\n  \"SILENT TIMES\" SERIES._\n\n  _Elegantly bound, parchment cloth, gilt top, 3s. 6d. each._\n\n  MAKING THE MOST OF LIFE. By the Rev.\n  J. R. MILLER, D.D. Sixth Edition.\n\n\n  \"They contain an abundance of pithy sentiment, and the winning\n  manner in which it is conveyed, together with the tenderness of\n  appeal which underlies all that is said, rivets attention. The many\n  short stories and episodes which give point to the writer's observations\n  are introduced with much skill and effect.\"--_Rock._\n\n\n  THE EVERY-DAY OF LIFE. Fifth Edition.\n\n  \"Rich in suggestion and full of truth.\"--_Dundee Advertiser._\n\n  \"Dr. Miller very fitly dedicates his new book to 'those who want\n  to grow better.' By such his pages will be read with mingled delight\n  and profit, for they are full of apt quotation, striking and abundant\n  illustration, and great knowledge of human nature.\"--_Literary World._\n\n\n  SECRETS OF A BEAUTIFUL LIFE. Second\n  Edition.\n\n  \"This charming and helpful book.\"--_Church Times._\n\n  \"He has a rare and sympathetic spirit, he has also had singularly\n  wide experience in the wants and workings of the human heart, and\n  is singularly gifted with the power of expression and happy\n  illustration.\"--_Presbyterian._\n\n  \"Sure to be as successful as its predecessors.\"--_British Weekly._\n\n\n  SILENT TIMES. Fourth Edition.\n\n  \"It overflows with useful and suggestive counsel, illustrated by apt\n  quotation and striking facts.\"--_Methodist Times._\n\n  \"The contents of the book well deserve their beautiful setting.\n  Dr. Miller writes both sweetly and tenderly on a great variety of\n  topics germane to the object he has in view. 'Silent Times' deserves\n  a welcome, for it is a book of sunbeams.\"--_Sword and Trowel._\n\n\n  WEEK-DAY RELIGION. Third Edition.\n\n  \"The style is lively, natural, and pointed; the illustrations are apt\n  and memorable, whilst all through there is apparent a fine combination\n  of spiritual intensity and thoroughness, with breadth of view and\n  sobriety of judgment.\"--_United Presbyterian Magazine._\n\n  \"A series of bright, sensible, tender, and interesting chapters on\n  just the difficulties which beset all who are trying to be Christians\n  every day.\"--_Glasgow Herald._\n\n\n\n\n  THE HISTORICAL GEOGRAPHY OF THE\n  HOLY LAND. By GEORGE ADAM SMITH, D.D., Professor\n  of Hebrew and Old Testament Exegesis, Free Church College,\n  Glasgow. With Six Maps, specially prepared.\n\n  _Fourth Thousand. 8vo, cloth, 15s._\n\n  \"The book is too rich to summarise.... The language is particularly\n  well chosen. Few pages are without some telling phrase\n  happily constructed to attract attention and hold the memory, and\n  we often feel that the wealth of imagery would be excessive for\n  prose were it not that it is chosen with such appropriateness and\n  scientific truth.... To the reader much of the pleasure of perusing\n  the volume comes from its luxurious typography and the exquisite\n  series of orographical maps prepared by Mr. Bartholomew from the\n  work of the Survey. These maps alone are more suggestive and\n  enlightening than many treatises, and they are destined, we trust, to\n  enliven many a sermon and turn the monotony of the records of\n  Israelitish wars into a thrilling romance.\"--_Speaker._\n\n\n  THE EXHAUSTIVE CONCORDANCE OF\n  THE BIBLE. By the late JAMES STRONG, LL.D. 1,800 very\n  full pages, in royal 4to. Now supplied at the following net\n  prices:\n\n  _Second Edition. Cloth, 25s. net; half-morocco, 35s. net._\n\n  \"We think 'The Exhaustive Concordance' might be called the\n  Final Concordance. It is difficult to believe that it will ever be\n  surpassed. It seems to contain everything that the student can require;\n  and, as we can testify from a constant use of it for the last few weeks,\n  it is as accurate as it is complete. It gives first every word of the\n  text of the common English version, including even 'the' and 'and'.\n  Then there is a full and valuable comparative concordance of the\n  Revised Version. Next follows a Hebrew and Chaldee Dictionary,\n  quite sufficient for ordinary purposes, and, in conclusion, a Greek\n  Dictionary of the New Testament. Thus we have within the covers\n  of a handy volume a complete apparatus for Biblical study.'\"--_British\n  Weekly._\n\n\n  LONDON: HODDER & STOUGHTON, 27, PATERNOSTER ROW.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\nPage 45: A missing footnote anchor has been inserted after \"union of\nChrist and his Church\".\n\nPage 267: Footnote 224 refers to Psalm xx. 6. This appears to be a\nprinter error which has been changed to read Psalm xxxiv. 6.\n\nPage 324: \"... Old Testament times of to the passion excited by cruelty\".\n\"of\" has been changed to \"or\".\n\nMinor typographical errors and inconsistencies have been silently\nnormalized. Archaic and variable spellings and hyphenation have been\nretained.\n\nOne advertising page has been moved from the beginning to the end\nof the book.","title":"The Expositor's Bible: The Song of Solomon and the Lamentations of Jeremiah","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":100649}