Psalm 39

a paraphrase

I have tried to keep from sin—
a muzzle on my mouth has been…

I have tried to hold my tongue
while the wicked were around;
I was silent, I was still—
I held my peace to no avail.
My distress grew worse and worse,
my heart so hot it nearly burst;
while I mused the fire burned,
until to you in prayer I turned.

And I said, Lord, let me know my end,
what is the measure of my days!
I said, Lord, let me know my end,
let me remember just how fleeting my life is!
All my days are measured out in handbreadths;
all my life is nothing in your sight!
Surely every man is but a mere breath,
a shadow counting pennies for a night.

Now, what am I waiting for?
My hope is only in the Lord.
Deliver me from all my sins;
don’t let the worthless wicked win!
I am silent, I am mute,
’cause all my trouble comes from you;
take away your hand from me—
I bow beneath it wearily.

And I say, Lord, you know my end,
what is the measure of my days!
Lord, you know my end!
Oh, please remember just how fleeting my life is!
When you punish wickedness in people,
you consume their treasures like the moth;
you destroy the good things with the evil,
but surely every man is but a breath!

Hear my prayer; O Lord, give ear!
Don’t hold your peace when I’m in tears!
I am just a guest with you,
a stranger like my fathers too.
Take away your gaze from me—
don’t be angry; let me be!
Let me smile again before
I go away and am no more!

’Cause, Lord, you know my end,
what is the measure of my days!
O Lord, you know my end,
oh, please remember just how fleeting my life is!

This unusual, meditative psalm is set to melancholy guitar accompaniment in a song that’s one of the best I’ve done. Sign up for a £4/month subscription to listen to it and all my other recordings.

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My book of devotional poetry, This Way to Warmth, is available now for preorder. The final verse of Psalm 39 comes up in the book as the epigraph of a poem meditating on the crucifixion. The last stanza of the poem:

     And will you stand so ceremoniously there,
     hands clasped in stony, reverent play,
     unmoved, accustomed to the sight?
     Wretch! Beg God remove his dying stare
     lest you, too, perish in the noontide night.

Christ closing his eyes in death is the removal of judgment for the believer. If you’d like to read more like this, order my book!