And then how strange to see this beautiful and delicate confession
put into so narrow and constrained a shape! It is the most
artificial by far of all the psalms. The writer has chosen
deliberately one of the most cramping and confining forms that
could be devised. Each of the eight verses that form the separate
stanzas begins with the same letter of the alphabet, and each of
the letters is used in turn. Think of attempting to do the same in
English--it could not be done at all. And then in every single
verse, except in one, where the word has probably disappeared in
translation, by a mistake, there is a mention of the law of God.
Infinite pains must have gone to the slow building of this curious
structure; stone by stone must have been carved and lifted to its
place. And yet the art is so great that I know no composition of
the same length that has so perfect a unity of mood and atmosphere.
There is never a false or alien note struck. It is never jubilant
or contentious or assertive--and, best of all, it is wholly free
from any touch of that complacency which is the shadow of virtue.
The writer never takes any credit to himself for his firm adherence
to the truth; he writes rather as one who has had a gift of
immeasurable value entrusted to unworthy hands, who hardly dares to
believe that it has been granted him, and who still speaks as
though he might at any time prove unfaithful, as though his
weakness might suddenly betray him, and who therefore has little
temptation to exult in the possession of anything which his own
frail nature might at any moment forfeit.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153