9 I will say to God my Rock, Why have you let me go from your memory? why do I go in sorrow because of the attacks of my haters?
Keep in mind, O Lord, what has come to us: take note and see our shame. Our heritage is given up to men of strange lands, our houses to those who are not our countrymen. We are children without fathers, our mothers are like widows. We give money for a drink of water, we get our wood for a price. Our attackers are on our necks: overcome with weariness, we have no rest. We have given our hands to the Egyptians and to the Assyrians so that we might have enough bread. Our fathers were sinners and are dead; and the weight of their evil-doing is on us. Servants are ruling over us, and there is no one to make us free from their hands. We put our lives in danger to get our bread, because of the sword of the waste land. Our skin is heated like an oven because of our burning heat from need of food. They took by force the women in Zion, the virgins in the towns of Judah. Their hands put princes to death by hanging: the faces of old men were not honoured. The young men were crushing the grain, and the boys were falling under the wood. The old men are no longer seated in the doorway, and the music of the young men has come to an end. The joy of our hearts is ended; our dancing is changed into sorrow. The crown has been taken from our head: sorrow is ours, for we are sinners.
For I was looking for good, and evil came; I was waiting for light, and it became dark. My feelings are strongly moved, and give me no rest; days of trouble have overtaken me. I go about in dark clothing, uncomforted; I get up in the public place, crying out for help. I have become a brother to the jackals, and go about in the company of ostriches. My skin is black and dropping off me; and my bones are burning with the heat of my disease. And my music has been turned to sorrow, and the sound of my pipe into the noise of weeping.
Why are you sleeping, O Lord? awake! and come to our help, do not give us up for ever. Why is your face covered, and why do you give no thought to our trouble and our cruel fate?
<To the chief music-maker on Aijeleth-hash-shahar. A Psalm. Of David.> My God, my God, why are you turned away from me? why are you so far from helping me, and from the words of my crying? O my God, I make my cry in the day, and you give no answer; and in the night, and have no rest.
Worthy.Bible » Commentaries » Matthew Henry Commentary » Commentary on Psalms 42
Commentary on Psalms 42 Matthew Henry Commentary
Psalm 42
If the book of Psalms be, as some have styled it, a mirror or looking-glass of pious and devout affections, this psalm in particular deserves, as much as any one psalm, to be so entitled, and is as proper as any to kindle and excite such in us: gracious desires are here strong and fervent; gracious hopes and fears, joys and sorrows, are here struggling, but the pleasing passion comes off a conqueror. Or we may take it for a conflict between sense and faith, sense objecting and faith answering.
The title does not tell us who was the penman of this psalm, but most probably it was David, and we may conjecture that it was penned by him at a time when, either by Saul's persecution or Absalom's rebellion, he was driven from the sanctuary and cut off from the privilege of waiting upon God in public ordinances. The strain of it is much the same with 63, and therefore we may presume it was penned by the same hand and upon the same or a similar occasion. In singing it, if we be either in outward affliction or in inward distress, we may accommodate to ourselves the melancholy expressions we find here; if not, we must, in singing them, sympathize with those whose case they speak too plainly, and thank God it is not our own case; but those passages in it which express and excite holy desires towards God, and dependence on him, we must earnestly endeavour to bring our minds up to.
To the chief musician, Maschil, for the sons of Korah.
Psa 42:1-5
Holy love to God as the chief good and our felicity is the power of godliness, the very life and soul of religion, without which all external professions and performances are but a shell and carcase: now here we have some of the expressions of that love. Here is,
Psa 42:6-11
Complaints and comforts here, as before, take their turn, like day and night in the course of nature.