I said, “Oh that I had wings like a dove! Then I would fly away, and be at rest.
Parallel Translations
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I said, “Oh that I had wings like a dove! Then I would fly away, and be at rest.
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And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.
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(55-7) And I said: 'Oh that I had wings like a dove! then would I fly away, and be at rest.
Cross-references (3)
Passages linked to Psalms 55:6 in the Treasury of Scripture Knowledge, ordered by reader-vote popularity; verse text shown in World English Bible.
- Psalms 11:1 In Yahweh, I take refuge. How can you say to my soul, “Flee as a bird to your mountain”?
- Revelation 12:14 Two wings of the great eagle were given to the woman, that she might fly into the wilderness to her place, so that she might be nourished for a time, and times, and half a time, from the face of the serpent.
- Psalms 139:9 If I take the wings of the dawn, and settle in the uttermost parts of the sea,
Cross-references from openbible.info (CC BY 4.0)
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John Calvin 1540 · Public Domain 6 And I said, Who will give me wings…
6 And I said, Who will give me wings like a dove? These words mean more than merely that he could find no mode of escape. They are meant to express the deplorableness of his situation, which made exile a blessing to be coveted, and this not the common exile of mankind, but such as that of the dove when it flies far off to some deserted hiding-place. They imply that he could only escape by a miracle. They intimate that even the privilege of retreat by common banishment was denied him, so that it fared worse with him than with the poor bird of heaven, which can at least fly from its pursuer. Some think that the dove is singled out on account of its swiftness. The Jews held the ridiculous idea that the Hebrew reads wing in the singular number, because doves use but one wing in flying; whereas nothing is more common in Scripture than such a change of number. It seems most probable that David meant by this comparison, that he longed to escape from his cruel enemies, as the timid and defenseless dove flies from the hawk. Great, indeed, must have been the straits to which he was reduced, when he could so far forget the promise made to him of the kingdom as, in the agitation of his spirits, to contemplate a disgraceful flight, and speak of being content to hide himself far from his native country, and the haunts of human society, in some solitude of the wilderness. Nay, he adds, as if by way of concession to the fury of his adversaries, that he was willing (would they grant it) to wander far off, that he was not proposing terms of truce to them which he never meant to fulfill, merely to gain time, as those will do who entertain some secret and distant hope of deliverance. We may surely say that these are the words of a man driven to the borders of desperation. Such was the extremity in which he stood, that though prepared to abandon all, he could not obtain life even upon that condition. In such circumstances, in the anguish of this anxiety, we must not wonder that his heart was overwhelmed with the sorrows of death. The Hebrew word סועה, soah, which I have rendered raised, is by some translated tempestuous; and there can be no doubt that the Psalmist means a stormy wind raised by a whirlwind. When he says that this wind is raised by the whirlwind, by this circumlocution he means a violent wind, such as compels the traveler to fly and seek shelter in the nearest dwelling or covert.
John Calvin's Commentaries (1540-1563) — public domain. Text from the Calvin Translation Society English edition (1840s-50s) via the Christian Classics Ethereal Library (ccel.org). Calvin's coverage is partial (roughly two-thirds of the Bible); uncommented books and verses are honest gaps, never fabricated. The 19th-century editor's footnotes and remarks are omitted so the notes are faithfully Calvin's own voice.
Geneva Bible translators 1599 · Public Domain Fear had driven him to so great distress, that…
Fear had driven him to so great distress, that he wished to be hid in some wilderness, and to be banished from that kingdom which God had promised that he should enjoy.
Geneva Bible (1599) marginal notes — public domain.
John Trapp 1656 · Public Domain Psa 55:6 And I said, Oh that I had…
Psa 55:6 And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! [for then] would I fly away, and be at rest.
Ver. 6. And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove!] Ut citissime et longissime fugerem, that I might swiftly fly far off from Absalom’s pursuers; as the dove saveth herself by fight, and not by fight, scoureth away to the rocks and deserts, Jer 48:28. Many souls are swifter of flight than doves; but these hold out better. R. Jonah saith, that whereas other birds, when they are wearied with flying, do rest them upon rocks or trees, and are taken; the dove doth not so, but letteth down one wing, and flieth with the other, and thereby escapeth the pursuer (R. Jonah, apud Kimchi).
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For then would I fly away] But whither he saith not, because he knew not. The Church in the Revelation fled into the wilderness, Rev 12:6 God provided a Pella for those primitive Christians. Luther, being asked where he would be at quiet from his enemies? answered, Sub coelo, under heave, somewhere God would secure him.
John Trapp, A Commentary or Exposition upon All the Books of the Old and New Testament (1647–1656) — public domain. Text from a community e-Sword module.
John Gill 1763 · Public Domain And I said, oh that I had wings like…
And I said, oh that I had wings like a dove,.... The psalmist pitches upon this creature, partly to suggest that his enemies pursuing him were like the ravenous hawk, and he like the harmless, innocent, and trembling dove; and partly because of its swiftness in flying. Aben Ezra thinks the dove is mentioned, because it is sociable with men, and who send letters by them for quick dispatch, of which instances may be given (r). This wish is expressed suitably to his character and case. The church is sometimes compared to a dove for its innocence, modesty, chastity, purity, affection, inconsolableness for the loss of its mate, and for its fearfulness, Sol 2:14; and so is Christ, Sol 5:12; who was typified by Jonah, whose name signifies a dove; and on whom the Spirit of God descended as a dove, at his baptism, and by whom he was filled with his dovelike graces;
for then would I fly away; so David desired to flee, and did flee with good speed and haste from Absalom his son, Sa2 15:14, title. Arama observes of the dove, that, when weary with flying with one wing, it rests that, and flies with the other, and so has strength to fly continually without stopping, which he supposes to be the reason why the wing of a dove is desired. So every sensible sinner desires to flee from sin and sinners, and from wrath to come; from avenging justice, to Christ the city of refuge; so Christ, under the terrors of death, in his human nature, in a view of the law's curse and wrath, desired the cup might pass from him, and he might flee and escape death, though with submission to the divine will;
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and be at rest; safe and secure from the conspirators, as David was; and as a sinner is that has fled to Christ; in whom is rest from the burden and guilt of sin, from the wrath, curse, and condemnation of the law, and under all afflictions, whether of body or mind; and not in the world, and worldly enjoyments; nor in the law, and the works of it: and as Christ is; not by escaping death, but through dying, and having done his work has ceased from it, and is entered into his rest; which was the joy set before him, that animated him as man to endure the cross, and despise the shame; here also true believers, weary of the world, desire to be, enjoying that rest which remains for the people of God.
(r) Vid. Aelian. Var. Hist. l. 9. c. 2.
John Gill's Exposition of the Whole Bible (1746–1763) — public domain (CC PDM 1.0). Text via the HelloAO Bible API.
Adam Clarke 1810 · Public Domain Verse 6. O that I had wings like a…
Verse 6. O that I had wings like a dove!] He was so surrounded, so hemmed in on every side by his adversaries, that he could see no way for his escape unless he had wings, and could take flight. The dove is a bird of very rapid wing; and some oil them passing before his eyes at the time, might have suggested the idea expressed here.
And be at rest.] Get a habitation.
Adam Clarke's Commentary on the Bible (1810–1826) — public domain. Text from a community e-Sword/MySword module.
Joseph Benson 1811 · Public Domain Psa 55:6-8. O that I had wings like a…
Psa 55:6-8. O that I had wings like a dove — Hebrew, מי יתן לי, mi jitten li, who will give me wings like a dove? “The dove is remarkable for the swiftness of its flight; therefore the psalmist, who saw himself in the extremest danger, and knew that his very life depended on his immediate escape, wishes for the swift wings of a dove, that, with the utmost speed, he might fly from the destruction which threatened him.” — Dodd. And be at rest — Or, that I might, or where I might, be at rest. Or, as אשׁכנה, eshchonah, rather signifies, may dwell, namely, in some settled and safe place, and be delivered from those uncertainties and wanderings to which I am now exposed. Observe, reader, gracious souls wish to retire from the hurry and bustle of the world, not only or chiefly that they may escape trouble and danger, but also, and especially that they may sweetly enjoy God. And remain in the wilderness — Where I might be free from the rage and treachery of my wicked enemies, who are worse than the wild beasts of the wilderness. Peace and quietness, in silence and solitude, are what the wisest and best of men have most earnestly coveted, and the more when they have been vexed and wearied with the noise and clamour of those about them. I would hasten, &c., from the windy storm and tempest — Hebrew, מרוח סעה מסער, meruach sognah missagnar, literally, from the sweeping wind and furious tempest, as Chandler translates the words. From the force and fury of mine enemies, who highly threaten me, or from the tumult and ferment that the city is now in, and the danger arising therefrom. This makes heaven desirable to a child of God, that it is a final escape from all the storms and tempests of this world, to perfect and everlasting rest.
Joseph Benson's Commentary on the Old and New Testaments (1811–1818) — public domain. Text from a community e-Sword module.
Albert Barnes 1834 · Public Domain And I said - That is, when I saw…
And I said - That is, when I saw these calamities coming upon me, and knew not what the result was to be.
Oh, that I had wings like a dove! - literally, “Who will give me wings like a dove?” or, Who will give me the pinion of a dove? The original word - אבר 'êber - means properly, “a wing-feather;” a pinion; the penna major or flagfeather of a bird’s wing by which he steers his course, - as of an eagle, Isa 40:31, or of a dove, as here. It is distinguished from the wing itself, Eze 17:3 : “A great eagle, with great wings, “long-winged,” full of feathers.” The reference here is supposed to be to the turtle-dove - a species of dove common in Palestine. Compare the notes at Psa 11:1. These doves, it is said, are never tamed. “Confined in a cage, they droop, and, like Cowper, sigh for ‘A lodge in some vast wilderness - some boundless contiguity of shade;’ and no sooner are they set at liberty, than they flee to their mountains.” Land and the Book (Dr. Thomson), vol. i., p. 416.
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For then would I fly away, and be at rest - I would escape from these dangers, and be in a place of safety. How often do we feel this in times of trouble! How often do we wish that we could get beyond the reach of enemies; of sorrows; of afflictions! How often do we sigh to be in a place where we might be assured that we should be safe from all annoyances; from all trouble! There is such a place, but not on earth. David might have borne his severest troubles with him if he could have fled - for those troubles are in the heart, and a mere change of place does not affect them; or he might have found new troubles in the place that seemed to him to be a place of peace and of rest. But there is a world which trouble never enters. That world is heaven; to that world we shall soon go, if we are God’s children; and there we shall find absolute and eternal rest. Without “the wings of a dove,” we shall soon fly away and be at rest. None of the troubles of earth will accompany us there; no new troubles will spring up there to disturb our peace.
Albert Barnes' Notes on the Bible (1834–1885) — public domain. Text from a community e-Sword/MySword module.
Robert Jamieson, A. R. Fausset & David Brown 1871 · Public Domain be at rest--literally, "dwell," that is, permanently.
be at rest--literally, "dwell," that is, permanently.
Jamieson, Fausset & Brown — Commentary Critical and Explanatory on the Whole Bible (1871) — public domain (CC PDM 1.0). Text via the HelloAO Bible API.
Daniel D. Whedon 1874 · Public Domain 6. Wings like a dove—The “dove” is here alluded…
6. Wings like a dove—The “dove” is here alluded to, not only because it was strong and swift of wing, (Isa_60:8; Gen_8:8-12,) in its wild state choosing its quiet abode in the clefts of the rocks, (Songs of Solomon Psalm 2:14; Jer_48:28,) but for its proverbial purity, innocence and love, (Son_5:2,) which made it a favourite bird in the Hebrew sacrifices. Gen_15:9; Lev_1:14; Lev_5:7-11.
Be at rest—One word in the Hebrew, signifying to abide, to dwell. He would abide in that far-off place of quiet, composed and self-resigned.
Daniel D. Whedon (gen. ed.), Commentary on the Old and New Testaments (1874–1909) — public domain. Text from a community e-Sword module.
The Cambridge Bible for Schools and Colleges 1878 · Public Domain 6. Weary of his life in the cruel city,…
6. Weary of his life in the cruel city, he wishes he could be like the dove which he watches winging its flight swiftly to its nest in the clefts of some inaccessible precipice, far from the haunts of men (Son_2:14). The dove may be meant too as an emblem of his own timidity and innocence.
6–8. He would fain escape to some solitary refuge. Cp. Jer_9:2.
The Cambridge Bible for Schools and Colleges (gen. ed. J. J. S. Perowne; Cambridge University Press, 1878–1918) — public domain. Text from a community e-Sword module.
Ellicott's Commentary for English Readers 1878 · Public Domain (6) Oh that I had.—Literally, who will give me?—The…
(6) Oh that I had.—Literally, who will give me?—The bird that was in the psalmist’s thought was doubtless the Rock Pigeon (Columba livia), which selects for its nesting the lofty cliffs and deep ravines far from the neighbourhood of man. (Comp. Son_2:14, Note.)
Be at rest.—So the LXX. and Vulg., and the reading is consecrated by long use; but the parallelism seems to require the more literal dwell or abide.
A Bible Commentary for English Readers, edited by Charles John Ellicott (1878–1897) — public domain. Text from a community e-Sword module.
The Pulpit Commentary 1880 · Public Domain And I said, Oh that I had wings like…
And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! The beauty of this passage has sunk deep into the Christian heart. Great composers have set to it some of their most exquisite music. The desire is one which finds an echo in almost every human breast, and the expression of it here has all the beauty of the best Eastern poetry. Jeremiah"s words are far tamer, "Oh that I had in the wilderness a lodging-place of wayfaring men, that I might leave my people, and go from them!" For then would I fly away, and be at rest. The desire of "rest" is universal. Whatever the delights of action, they can only charm us for a time. In our hearts we are always longing to have done with action, and to be at rest.
Vers. 6-8. A pathetic prayer.
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"Oh that I had wings," etc.! A very natural wish, pathetically and beautifully expressed. The Prophet Jeremiah gave utterance to the same wish, and for similar reasons. (Jer_9:2) Hence some have conjectured he was the author of this psalm. The title, ascribing it to David, represents ancient Jewish tradition, which there is no adequate ground for rejecting. But the psalm contains nothing certainly to indicate at what time in David"s history it was composed, or who was the treacherous friend referred to. The fact is, the Book of Psalms is a treasury, not of history, but of spiritual experience; a manual of prayer, praise, meditation, faith, for the Church in all ages. Its perennial meaning and value are rather raised than lowered by the uncertainty besetting special occasions and dates which keen critics labour to drag to light.
I THESE WORDS PICTURE FOR US A HEART WEARY OF THE WORLD. The writer longs passionately to be quit of it, out of sight and hearing, in restful solitude. He feels as our English poet, when taking up Jeremiah"s thought he wrote"Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumour of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more!
This world-weariness may be of different kinds from widely opposite causes. There is the case of the man who has loved the world with all his heart, and is sick and sated, and still hungry and unsatisfied. He has loved pleasure, laid the reins on the neck of his lusts; and his reward is a diseased body, a worn-out heart, a blighted character, a guilty conscience. Or money; and while he has been piling up what men call a fortune, his heart has dried up, friends have grown estranged, the power of enjoyment has dwindled as the material means of buying it grew. Or political power; and has learned how thankless a task it is to serve people against their prejudices, how futile is popularity, party allegiance, how unstable earthly greatness. Like many a monarch and statesman, he is longing for freedom and rest. It is not these kinds of world-weariness the Holy Spirit depicts here. Those tired-out worldlings do not write psalms. They have sown to the flesh, and reaped corruption. What David and Jeremiah were so weary of was the wickedness of the world (vers. 3, 9, 11, 19). This is the key to the tremendous denunciations of the guilt and fate of sinners, in other psalms as well as here. Intense personal feeling is no doubt implied; but it is as rebels against God, not as private foes, they are described. The king the Lord"s anointed ought to have punished them if he could; feeling his inability, he appeals to God. And be it borne in mind, God did punish them; as (e.g. ) Ahithophel and Absalom. It is often asked How can we reconcile these denunciations with our Lord"s prayer, "Father, forgive them"? Answer: Remember the ground on which this forgiveness was possible: "They know not what they do." They were to have room for repentance. Remember, that only two or three days before, Jesus had uttered, in the temple, denunciations more severe than any in the Psalms; and, lastly, that these woes were fulfilled to the letter, after forty years, in the destruction of Jerusalem.
II EVERY REAL CHRISTIAN MUST KNOW SOMETHING OF THIS HEART-SICKNESS, SOUL-WEARINESS, ON ACCOUNT OF THE PREVALENCE OF SIN IN THE WORLD. The better he knows the world, the more he feels this. Once our Saviour gave a momentary glimpse of the daily burden this was to him. (Mat_17:17) If so very imperfect a saint as Lot "vexed his righteous soul from day to day", (2Pe_2:7, 2Pe_2:8) what must the Holy One of God have endured in the hourly contact with sin! He was the "Friend of sinners." The Christian Church of the present day and society outside the Church shows more than in any former age of the likeness of his compassion for sinners. But are we not sorely lacking in that righteous indignation against wrong, and deep grief at the dishonour offered to God"s Name, which are no less part of the mind that was in Christ Jesus"?
III WE MUST NOT ALLOW THIS HEART-WEARINESS TO SLIDE INTO DESPAIR. It must not abate hope, slacken effort, hinder prayer. The temptation may be strong partly from forgetfulness or ignorance of the past. When a great poet allows himself to exclaim, "When was age so crammed with meanness, madness, written, spoken lies?" the reply is What former age was less so? Not the age of Isaiah, or of Jeremiah, or of Malachi. Not the age which cried, "Not this Man, but Barabbas!" Nor the ages of the decline and fall of Rome. Nor what some call "the age of faith;" others, more justly, "the dark ages." Nor of the Tudors and Stuarts. Nor the coldhearted, cruel eighteenth century. No! It is an old story, "The whole world lieth in wickedness." It is an ancient cry, "How long, O Lord, how long?" We are "as they that watch for the morning." But courage! "The night is far spent". (Rom_13:12) Armour is not for flight, but fight. "Like a dove!" Yes, David; if thou wert a dove! But thou art a king God"s servant, Israel"s champion and prophet. (Eph_6:13)
If this prayer is David"s, it is pathetic and instructive to remember that it was granted, though not as he desired. (2Sa_17:23) God can show us the unwisdom of our prayers by granting as well as denying. For the present, our Saviour"s prayer for his own is not that they be taken out of the world. (Joh_17:15) But whatever is right and true in this prayer shall in due time be answered. (Rev_21:3, Rev_21:4, Rev_21:27)
Seeking rest.
"Oh that I had wings like a dove!" David was not the first nor the last to utter this cry. Men in all ages have suffered. Everywhere we find the game unconquerable desire for rest. This longing underlies all religions and philosophies. And there are times when the cry rises instinctively, and presses for an answer. Who is there who has not, in sorrow or in pain bodily and mentally, or when sick and weary and overborne by earthly troubles, been moved to cry, Oh for rest! And yet the wish may be vain. We need to examine and try ourselves. There is a wrong as well as a right way of seeking rest.
I IT IS VAIN TO HOPE FOR REST BY SEEKING THE IMPOSSIBLE. Man was made "but a little lower than the angels;" and yet, though all things are said to have been put under him, there are points in which the "beasts of the field and the fowls of the air" have the advantage of him. Hence they may become objects of envy. We are limited beings; but we can conceive ourselves endowed with powers beyond what we possess. There is danger in such fancies. The dove flies past, and all seems peace. But this may be a delusion. We know not what fate awaits it. Besides, we cheat ourselves with a silly thought. We know we have not, and cannot have, "wings." Wishing for the impossible only leaves us the more weak and discontented. Better face difficulty manfully. Better do what God has made us capable of doing, if we are willing, than waste time and strength in idle fancies of what cannot be. The doubter wants a "sign." The anxious sinner craves some sensible proof of acceptance. The troubled mind, tossed to and fro amidst the endless strife of controversy, longs for some infallible guide. There is what Wordsworth calls, "the universal instinct of repose the longing for confirmed tranquillity." But this is not God"s way. "Every man shall bear his own burden". (Gal_6:5)
II IT IS VAIN TO HOPE FOR REST BY MERE CHANGE OF OUTWARD CONDITIONS. Place has much to do with feeling. What is near seems more real than what is far off. What we see touches us more keenly than what we only hear of from others. (Lam_3:15) So with respect to "rest." We are prone to blame circumstances. We delude ourselves with the thought that, if things were altered, all would be well The "imagined otherwise" is the heaven of many. So it is with many of the sick, the poor, the oppressed, the discontented. Absalom played cunningly upon this feeling. (2Sa_15:4) But "rest" is a state of the mind. It does not come from without, but from within. It is not won by change of condition, but by change of heart. So Paul learned. (Php_4:11)
III IT IS VAIN TO HOPE FOR REST BY FLIGHT FROM THE IMMEDIATE CAUSES OF DISTRESS. There are times when flight may be expedient. (Mat_10:23 2Ti_2:22) Again, there are times when flight would be a sin. (Neh_6:11 2Ti_4:10) Besides, flight may be a vain resource. (Amo_5:19) The question is What is our duty? Then, when we have settled that, like Paul, we should stand firm. (Act_20:24) There are people who would quiet conscience by silencing the preacher, like Herod; or get rid of an unpleasant duty by flying, like Jonah; or hasten their escape from trouble, like David. But this will not avail. It is better to stand than to fly; to do our duty humbly and quietly in the place where God calls us, than to seek an easier lot. Elijah was a nobler figure confronting singly the hosts of Baal, than hiding in the desert. Peter and Paul and Stephen were truer men, and did a grander work by not holding their lives dear, than if they had cared more for themselves than for Christ. The true way of rest is the way of self-sacrifice. It is when we surrender ourselves wholly to Christ, to be his and his only, and to love and do his will for evermore, that we enter into rest. (Mat_11:28-30) The psalmist in his better moments felt this. If his first impulse was "to flee away," when he came to himself he turned to the Lord as his sure Refuge (ver. 9). And what he learned for himself he commends with confidence to others: "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee" (ver. 22). W.F.
The Pulpit Commentary (1880–1919), ed. H.D.M. Spence-Jones & Joseph S. Exell — public domain. Text from a community e-Sword module.
Charles H. Spurgeon 1885 · Public Domain Ver. 6. And I said, Oh that I had…
Ver. 6. And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest. If he could not resist as an eagle, he would escape as a dove. Swiftly, and unobserved, on strong, untiring pinions would he h away from the abodes of slander and wickedness. His love of peace made him sigh for an escape from the scene of strife.
"O for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
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Some boundless contiguity of shade,
Where rumour of oppression and deceit
Might never reach me more."
We are all too apt to utter this vain desire, for vain it is; no wings of doves or eagles could bear us away from the sorrows of a trembling heart. Inward grief knows nothing of place. Moreover, it is cowardly to shun the battle which God would have us fight. We had better face the danger, for we have no armour for our backs. He had need of a swifter conveyance than doves' pinions who would outfly slander; he may be at rest who does not fly, but commends his case to his God. Even the dove of old found no rest till she returned to her ark, and we amid all our sorrow may find rest in Jesus. We need not depart; all will be well if we trust in him.
Ver. 6. And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest. Wherever the psalmist cast his eye, the inscription was vanity and vexation. A deluge of sin and misery covered the world, so that like Noah's dove he could find no rest for the sole of his foot below, therefore does he direct his course toward heaven, and say, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest; but rest is not a denizen of this world, nothing but the heaven of heavens is at rest, and here does he fix only. Thomas Sharp (1630-1693), in "Divine Comforts."
Ver. 6. Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest. King David, though for innocency not only a dove, but the phoenix of doves, and so a notable type of Christ, upon whom the Holy Ghost descended in the shape of a dove, yet was his whole life nothing else but bellum sine induciis, a perpetual persecution without intermission. Such was also the portion of Christ the Lord of David; and such to the world's end will ever be the lot of those that are the heritage of Christ. My text imports no less; which, taken historically, is the voice of David pursued by his enemies; prophetically, the voice of Christ at his passion; mystically, the voice of that mystical dove, the innocent soul, surrounded and environed with the snares of death; even generalis quoendam querela (saith Pellican), a general complaint of the malice of the wicked persecuting the righteous. For (alas that it should be! yet so it is) --
"Non rete accipitri tenditur, neque milvio,
Qui male facinunt nobis; illis qui nil faciunt tenditur." Terence.
"The net is not pitched for ravenous birds, as are the hawk and the kite; but for poor harmless birds, that never meditate mischief." And
"Dat veniam corvis, vexat censura columbas."
"The dove shall surely be shot at, when the carrion crow shall go shot free." Juvenal.
It will then be no news unto you, that here the faithful soul, the spouse, the dove of Christ, when trouble and heaviness take hold upon her, and the floods of Belial compass her about, Tanquam avis e cave liberari cupit as St. Austin speaks of the cloistered monks in his time), "Desireth like a bird to be loosed out of her cage." Or, that as Jonas (by interpretation a dove, after three days' and three nights' imprisonment in the whale's belly, could not but long after his enlargement. So the dove like soul of man, when not three, but many days, and months, and years, she hath been imprisoned in the body, hath a longing desire to be enlarged, and to fly unto God that made her; and so mourning like a dove in devout supplication, and mounting like a dove in divine speculation, breaks forth into these sad elegies: "Oh that I had wings!" and "Alas, that I have not wings! Woe is me that I am constrained to dwell with Mesech, and to have mine habitation among the tents of Kedar. Like as the hart desires the water brook, so longeth my soul to be with thee, O God. I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ. Who will give me wings?" etc. Which is as if the poor distressed soul, pathetically bemoaning her forlorn estate of pilgrimage, should thus more plentifully enlarge herself. "My spouse is already ascended higher than the winds, than the clouds, than the highest heavens, and I, poor soul, as a husbandless widow, as a tutorless orphan, as a comfortless exile, am left desolate and disconsolate in this valley of tears; none to care for me, none to comfort me, till I have regained him whom I love, and in whom I live. Nay (which worse is), this mine own familiar friend, this nearest and dearest companion of mine, my body, is even a burden unto me. The weight of it, and oft the sins that hang so fast on it, doth so clog and shackle me, so glue and nail me to the earth, that I cannot raise or rear up myself towards heaven. Or let him therefore descend to relieve me, being fila, sponsa, soror, his daughter, and spouse, and sister; or let him give me wings wherewith I may ascend to him, under the shadow of whose wings I shall surely rest in safety." Ps 16:4. "I must confess it was the very bitterness of extremity that first compelled me to love him, though of himself no less lovely than love itself. It was the sharp sauce of affliction that gave edge to mine affections, and sharpened mine appetite to that `sweet meat that endureth to everlasting life.' But now, having had some little foretaste of him, I am even in an holy ecstasy, so ravished, so transported with a fervent desire of him and of his presence, that ubi sum, ibi non sum; ubi non sum, ibi animus est:" "where I am, there I am not; and where I am not, there am I." For, anima est ubi amat, non ubi animat: (Erasmus). "The soul is where it loveth, not where it liveth." Now sigh I not so much for the present dangers, I would decline, as because of my absent love, whom I most desire. Who will give me wings? etc. In the scanning of which verse, ye will observe with me,
(a). The efficient or author of these wings
--God. Who will give me? Who? that it, who but
God?
(b) The matter of the wish--wings. "Who
will give me wings?"
(c) The form of those wings--dove like.
Who will give me wings like unto a dove?
(d) The end mediate--flying. Then would I
fly away.
(e) The end ultimate--resting. And be at
rest.
(1) "Who will give me?" There's Christian humility.
(2) "Who will give me wings?" There's prudent
celerity.
(3) "Wings like unto a dove." There's innocent
simplicity.
(4) "Then would I fly away." There's devout
sublimity.
(5) "And be at rest." There's permanent security.
John Rawlinson, in "The Dove like Soule. A Sermon preached before the Prince's Highness at Whitehall, "Feb. 19, 1618.
Ver. 6. Oh that I had wings, etc. Some of the most astounding sermons ever delivered have been preached on this text, which was a very favourite one with the old divines. They ransacked Pliny and Aldrovandus for the most outrageous fables about doves, their eyes, their livers, their crops, and even their dung, and then went on to find emblems of Christians in every fact and fable. Griffith Williams, at considerable length, enlarges upon the fact that David did not desire wings like a grasshopper to hop from flower to flower, as those hasty souls who leap in religion, but do not run with perseverance; nor like an ostrich which keeps to the earth, though it be a bird, as hypocrites do who never mount towards heavenly things; nor like an eagle, or a peacock, or a beetle, or a crow, or a kite, or a bat; and after that he has shown in many ways the similarity between the godly and doves, he refers us to Hugo Cardinalis, and others, for more. We do not think it would be to edification to load these pages with such eccentricities and conceits. This one single sentence, from Bishop Patrick is worth them all, "He rather wished than hoped to escape." He saw no way of escape except by some improbable or impossible means. C. H. S.
Ver. 6. When the Gauls had tasted the wine of Italy, they asked where the grapes grew, and would never be quiet till they came there. Thus may you cry, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest. A believer is willing to lose the world for the enjoyment of grace; and he is willing to leave the world for the fruition of glory. William Secker.
Ver. 6. Wings like a dove. The pigeon, or dove, is one of the swiftest of birds. The Religious Tract Society's "Book of Psalms, with Preface and Explanatory Notes."
Ver. 6. An old writer tells us that it would have been more honourable for him to have asked for the strength of an ox to bear his trials, than for the wings of a dove to flee from them. William Jay, 1769-1853.
Ver. 6. Dove. The reference is to the turtle dove, I suppose. Their low, sad complaint may be heard all day long at certain seasons in the olive groves, and in the solitary and shady valleys among these mountains; I have, however, been more affected by it in the vast orchards round Damascus than anywhere else--so subdued, so very sorrowful among the trees, where the air sighs softly, and little rills roll their melting murmurs down the flowery aisles. These birds can never be tamed. Confined in a cage they droop, and like Cowper, sigh for
"A lodge in some vast wilderness--some boundless contiguity of shade."
and no sooner are they set at liberty than they flee, as a bird, to their mountain. Ps 11:1. David refers to their habits in this respect when his heart was sore pained within him: Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest. Lo, then would I wander far off, and remain in the wilderness. And there you will meet these timid birds far away from the haunts of cruel hunters, of whose society they are peculiarly suspicious. W. M. Thomson, in "The Land and the Book, "1859.
Ver. 6. Oh that I had wings, etc. --
At first her mother earth she holdeth dear,
And doth embrace the world and worldly things;
She flies close by the ground, and hovers there,
And mounts not up with her celestial wings.
Yet under heaven she cannot light on ought
That with heavenly nature doth agree;
She cannot rest, she cannot fix her thought,
She cannot in this world contented be:
Then as a bee which among weeds doth fall,
Which seem sweet flowers, with lustre fresh and gay;
She lights on that, and this, and tasteth all,
But pleased with none, doth rise and soar away;
So when the Soul finds here no true content;
And like Noah's dove, can no sure footing take,
She doth return from whence she first was sent,
And flies to him that first her wings did make. Sir John Davies, 1569-1626.
None.
Psalms 55:7*
Charles H. Spurgeon's The Treasury of David (1869–1885) — public domain. Psalms only. Text from a community e-Sword/MySword module.
The Biblical Illustrator 1887 · Public Domain And I said, Oh that I had wings like…
Psa_55:6-8
And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.
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Dissatisfaction the law of life
I. It impels to all earthly and moral progress. Arts, sciences, literature, commerce, civilization, are obviously the results of that dissatisfaction with things present and possessed, which urges the soul abroad to discover new fields of thought, new prizes of ambition. We call it disappointment; but it is only the loosing of the dry husk from the swelling germ of life; only the fading of the flower-leaf around the forming fruit-bud; only the breaking of the shell from the stir of glorious wings. Without it man might be sportive as the lamb amid the green fields of earth, but could not soar as the eagle through the firmament of heaven; and therefore everything elevating society above the lowest level of unaspiring savage life--these great cities on the land, those rich argosies on the sea, these homes of peace, these treasures of plenty, these libraries of literature, these galleries of art are all, all only the blossoms and fruit of the bitter root of discontent, the achievements of the restless soul going forth to the battle and keeping step to the music of this plaintive psalm of life, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away, and be at rest.
II. An intimation, an incitant in regard of the immortal. The beauties and glories for which man strives in the race and battle are delusions. The glittering rainbow which, to a child, seems a very out-cropping along a black mountain side of metalliferous veins of treasure, is at best but the false show of cold vapour exhaled from some stagnant marsh, and he reaches at it only to grasp chilling and mocking rain-drops. And thus is it with all the fair, bright objects of earths love and labour. They do not only disappoint, they deceive us. Visions of ravishing beauty rise before our affections, and the heart presses on to them, and bows to them in adoration, delighting to break alabaster vases and scatter costliest incense; but presently all their charm, and beauty, and glory fade away, and we find that our lot on earth is ever only to make idols and to find them clay. And thus every way and in every condition deceived, our outcry is in bitter anguish, Alas! poor, beguiled, cheated child of immortality, all your earthly flowers fade, all your heavenly rainbows vanish away. And yet in all this, I say, we may see, if we will, a Divine meaning of love unto immortals. This very deception of our senses, our reason, our affections is a beneficent part of our discipline in their development for the higher life. (C. Wadsworth, D. D.)
The sigh of David
Let us consider this sigh of David, which is the sigh of many men--sighs natural indeed and excusable indeed, and like the sigh of Jesus, so far as they are innocently human; but which have in them, alas! but too often, little of the Divine. Turn to your Bibles, and reflect upon the varying moods of so many minds, and you will find there the record of a multitude of these sighs of weariness, of discouragement, of self-disgust, of pain. Most ignoble are they when they are prompted by restlessness and peevishness like that of Jonah, wishing himself dead because God had spared Nineveh, and because Gods mercy had triumphed over his paltry personal opinion; or by a pessimism like that of the conceited Solomon, which sees nothing in life except a universal emptiness; or by a black, suicidal despair, like that of Judas Iscariot, walking under the intolerable glare of illumination flung upon conscience by accomplished crime. But even the nobler spirits sometimes succumb for a moment to this merely selfish weakness, and have sighed, not only with the pure pity of Jesus, but with the impatience and short-sightedness of simple men. Moses had as great and mighty a heart as ever beat in any human breast, yet he exclaims (Num_11:11-15). What a sigh is there! There never breathed a more dauntless prophet than Elijah, yet he sat under a juniper tree in the wilderness and requested that he might die (1Ki_19:4). What a deep sigh is there! And Job was very patient, yet under the pitiless storm of sin and suffering even Sob broke down and cursed the day of his birth. And Jeremiah, although he had a natural diffidence of character, yet when Pashur smote him and put him in the stocks, he burst into a wild cry (Jer_20:18). And do not we seem to hear the sigh of the mighty Baptist (Mat_11:3). Nay, even Paul, though nothing could wring such sighs from his indomitable heart, yet knows that to depart and be with Christ is far better. Here, then, you have the weariness and discouragement of the noblest of mankind. It is not generally because of some personal injury, but it is either because the world is very evil (Psa_119:136); or else because life is very full of trials (Gen_47:9); or, again, because the work is very dreary (Exo_5:23). Yes; all good men have had to fight with almost impenetrable stupidity, with hard pharisaism, and with religious and irreligious self-conceit; and the Bible is full of sighs. Now, one of the elements in Scripture that makes it so inestimably valuable is that it is so essentially human, so profoundly true to nature, so inartificial, so simple, so passionate, as all true history and all true poetry ought to be. These kings and heroes and prophets were just such men as ourselves, their hearts beating like our hearts, their joys and sorrows, their hopes and fears, even such as ours; the same fights of weariness and discouragement to fight that we find in secular history. We find it in literature; we find it in our own hearts--it is a part of our life. We get tired of the daily sameness of life. The rivers flow to the sea, yet the sea is not full. We are tired of the unrelenting past, tired of the dreary present, tired of the uncertain future. We are tired of the weary struggle in our own heart; the to-and-fro conflicting witnesses of impulse and repression; broad, rejoicing, sunlit tides of spiritual emotion, leaving behind them the flat, cozy shores of ebbing enthusiasm. The old historian said thai no man had ever lived yet without coming to the day in his life when he cared nothing if he were to see no to-morrow. Again and again we feel inclined to cry at the end of another year, Eternal, be Thou my refuge! Bad men feel it. Says one, I have dragged on to thirty-three. What have all those years left to me? Nothing except three and thirty. A godless experience curdles at once into acrid pessimism. The condition of such is so utterly wretched that total annihilation would be preferable, and they hold that the creation and the existence of the world is a fundamental misfortune. But if this life were everything, many would say the same! We find this hopelessness and dissatisfaction in every rank of life. Now it is Diocletian, deciding that planting cabbages at Salons is better than ruling the world at Byzantium; now it is Severus, saying he has been everything in life, from a common position to that of an emperor, and nothing is of any good; now it is St. Augustine, saying that mans earthly happiness is by the streams of Babylon--let him sit down by them and weep; now it is good Richard Hooker, saying he had lived so long in the world, and found it such, that he had long been preparing to leave it; now it is Luther, crying, I am weary of life: if this can be called life, there is nothing much worse: I am utterly weary: I pray Thee, O Lord, come forth and carry me hence; now it is Whitefield, crying, O Lord! I am not weary of Thy work, but in Thy work; let me speak for Thee once more, then seal Thy truth and let me die. When Montesquieu was on his death-bed a forward, uninvited clergyman thrust himself to his bedside when another clergyman had left him, and said to him in a conversant sort of way, Sir, are you truly conscious of the greatness of God? Yes, said the dying philosopher, and of the littleness of man; and so he died; and what a sigh was there! It always seems to me worth while to recognize facts, to bring them out into the full light of consciousness, and then to face them. And this being the fact respecting human life, where is the remedy? The great resource in every perplexity is to look to Christ. If we look to our great Example, we shall see what to do. He, too, though sinless, was forced to sigh for the sad world of sin and death; but notice, the sigh had been scarcely uttered when once more He was engaged in works of mercy and thoughtful care. To sigh is sometimes natural, but to waste time in sighing, to suffer ourselves to be absorbed in the dark side of life, to exclude ourselves from its many and estimable gladnesses, is unthoughtful and useless. However hard the struggle against ignorance, and against pharisaism, and against stupidity, and against malice, and against robbery, and against wrong, and against oppression, and against sill, no good and great life will ever suffer itself to be crippled by conquerable melancholy. If we sigh for our own weakness and sins, we cannot, indeed, fly to ourselves, but we can fly to the grace of God and amend ourselves. If we sigh for our surroundings, no wings of a dove, indeed, can bear us away from the dwellings of Meshach and the tents of Kedar; but, by Gods grace, we may help to make them better and happier places. The lessons of Scripture, the lessons of the life of Christ, the lessons of human experience alike teach us to labour and to wait. They combine to tell us, to every one of us alike, for sorrow and disaster, for weariness and discouragement, God has given four great and perfect remedies, on which I would say a very few last words. One remedy is action: God taught it to Moses. Why criest thou unto Me? Speak to the children of Israel that they go forward. While there is anything to be done, the time spent in sorrow is worse than waste. The wings of a dove! No, let us rather look for wings that we may fly in the path of Gods commandment. Let us, with the ancient rabbi, pray that we may be bold as the leopard, bounding as the stag, brave as the lion, to do the will of our Father in heaven, that we may work on. Said Mendelssohn, For me, too, the hour of rest will come: do the next thing. Oh! a grand motto was that. And that was a good motto, Work here, rest elsewhere, wipe thy tears, cease thy sighing, do thy work, the day is short, the work is abundant, the labourers are few, the reward is great. Another remedy is patience. God is patient. He has borne with mans falsehood and littleness and disobedience, for no one knows how many thousand years. Cannot we, too, wait, if we do well and suffer for it? Cannot we take it patiently? Patient continuance in well-doing--there is a grand remedy for idle tears! (Psa_37:7). The third remedy is faith. Jesus, as He sighed, looked up to heaven. Two things alone can finally cure the malady of occasional depression, and those two things are God and death; and faith looks forward fearlessly to death. Is our sigh for our own work? Oh, cast thy burden on the Lord, etc. Is our sigh for the world? We did not make the world, and He who made it will guide. One day, when St. Francis was laying before God his troubles and disquietudes, the answer came to him, Poor little man, why dost thou trouble thyself? I, who made thee the shepherd of My order, knowest thou not that I am its Protector? If those I have called upon go, I will put others in their place, and if none existed, I would cause them to be born. I cannot mend the world, said Luther. If I thought I could, I would be the veriest ass living. Thou canst mend it, O my God! I have mentioned action, patience, faith, and the last remedy is hope. It is a good thing that a man should both hope and patiently wait for the salvation of the Lord. Things are rarely as bad as they look to us. Elijah cries, I, even I, only am left, and God tells him that he has seven thousand who have not bowed the knee to Baal. A young man is terror-stricken in a besieged city, and Elijah shows him bow all round are the protecting chariots of horses and fire. He who cares for His little birds and pastures, His cattle and waters and His flowers, shall He not care for the souls of men? Mans grief is but his grandeur in disguise, and discontent his immortality. To us has been born a Saviour, Christ the Lord. (Dean Farrar.)
Should heaven be sought as a distant, or enjoyed as a present good
Denizens of the Christian world abound, who, with dissatisfied spirits, not only disregard, but almost despise, the profusion of good which Almighty Love has lavishly spread around and about them, and fix their anxious eyes upon a heaven that lies beyond the grave, and up in the starry regions of space. This state of mind is as objectionable in its nature, and as pernicious in its influence, as it is popular and abounding. The latter state of mind--that embodied in the prayer which Christ gave His disciples--is the more right and wholesome state of mind to be cherished in relation to heaven.
I. The one is more reasonable than the other. The state of mind which seeks to get heaven out of our sphere, activities, and circumstances, here on this green and lovely earth, seems to us far more rational than the state of mind which is constantly looking away for it in the invisible and remote.
1. Man has in an inexhaustible degree all the elements of heaven here.
2. These inexhaustible elements are here and now available. All depends upon the moral state of the heart. In privations, sufferings, persecutions, sainted men in all ages have felt the transports, and hymned the strains of the upper heavens. Which, then, is the more reasonable state of mind? The one that comparatively overlooks, and but very partially enjoys, the infinite sources of happiness available to us in this life, in sentimental aspirations for foreign and imaginary joys; or the one, that through faith in Christ, so enters into the blessed activities and joys of the present, as to indulge no restless longings for the future?
II. The one is a more useful state of mind than the other.
1. The one leads to a more cheerful life than the other. It gives sunshine to the man; his spirit is genial, and his conduct glows with a radiant life. Having a soul full of goodness, he sees good in everything; being harmonious within, he hears music all round him; his soul delights itself in fatness; he is blessed in his deed. Like a man marching to music, he treads the path of life with a joyous step.
2. The one leads to a more practical life than the other. The man who finds his heaven here by having the true love, doing the right work, and living the Christ-like life, is bringing down heaven to the men and women around him. His life is a stream gushing from the fountain of infinite love, and it touches into heavenly life and beauty all within its sphere. His life is a mirror, which reflects on all around the glories of the upper world.
III. The one is more scriptural than the other.
1. Heaven consists in the inner state of the soul and not in external circumstances. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. They are blessed. They see God now.
2. The grand Work of man in this world should be to promote this state of soul, both in himself and in his fellow-men.
IV. The one is more certain of realization than the other. He who seeks happiness as an end, is like a man running to catch his shadow; the fleeter he runs, the fleeter runs his shadow. Whosoever shall seek to save his life shall lose it; and whosoever shall lose his life shall find it. (Homilist.)
Mistaken longings
There are times when the sicknesses and infirmities of the body oppress us, when we are disquieted by the cares of life, embittered by disappointment, until at last we wish that it were over and that we were well out of it. This mood ignores several great and precious truths.
I. It is based on the mistake that rest is found in a place, whereas rest is found in a state. Fly away, change the locality, and all will be well. Now, the teaching of revelation is altogether contradictory to this idea of finding peace in a locality. We are to expect peace in perfection of character and life; in purity of heart and conscience, in love, righteousness, and hope. What we cannot find in any place we find in Christ and in what He gives. In His love, power, and purity we realize profound repose, even in a universe of storm. It is perfectly calm at the centre of the whirlwind; Jesus is the centre of the whirlwind of life, and whilst philosophies, fortunes, thrones, stars, and suns are being driven as the chaff of the summer threshing-floor, in Christ at the centre is peace. We do not want the wings of a dove to fly away, but rather the wings of faith and love to carry us closer to Christ; we want to be more like Him, and then we shall triumph in trouble as the sea-bird rides on the wave.
II. It overlooks the fact that the discipline of the storm is essential to us. We long to nestle in some palm-grove and coo away our life in indolence and ease; but would this be well? We know it would not, for we are here to be made perfect, perfect through suffering. Storms are necessary to set us right. These terrible buffetings feelingly persuade us what we are. They awaken us from vain dreams, and drive us to the true hiding-place. Before I was afflicted I went astray, but now I keep Thy statutes. And storms are necessary to keep us right. The best of men are endangered in a belt of calm. Some precious stones lose their sparkle if they are long exposed to the sun, and the Lords jewels easily lose their lustre by long-continued sunshine. We like the sun--it is pleasant to scintillate--but the gloom is often necessary to the preservation and increase of our lustre. Out of these sorrows and crosses come the peaceable fruits of righteousness and the eternal weight of glory.
III. It breathes the spirit of mistrust and cowardice. Oh that I had wings. This is the expression of faithlessness. He is ready to assume that God would not, or could not, sustain him, and therefore he wished to run away. But He can sustain us, and He will sustain us; let us therefore claim His help and salvation. Eagles wings are what we need; mastery of difficulty, joy in difficulty, difficulty conducting to glory. Eagles wings--it means that we can battle with the storm; it means joy in the storm, for the eagle exults in the very fury of the elements; it means power to rise above the storm; out of darkness into light. All this God can give, and will.
IV. The expression in the text is lacking in right views of the future.
1. It lacks a right view of the requirements of the future. It bespeaks discontent with earth, only we may be tired of earth long before we are fit for heaven; It is enough, let me die, say short-sighted men; but God says it is enough only when He sees that we are fit and ripe for a better world.
2. It lacks a right view of the grandeur of the future. The wings of a dove. We do not belong to the two-winged order, but to the six-winged (Isa_6:2). These are our kinsmen. God would not take infinite pains with us if we were not so great. (W. L. Watkinson.)
The instinct of repose
I. It is vain to hope for rest by seeking the impossible. How often is this done I How many cry for that they have not, and covet that which they cannot obtain! They vex themselves in vain.
1. Thus it is sometimes with the doubter. He wants a sign. The evidence he has does not satisfy him. He cannot believe in Jesus and the Resurrection without more infallible proofs (Luk_16:31).
2. Thus it is also with the convicted sinner. He is anxious. Doubts and fears torment him. Would that he could be sure that God indeed speaks to him. Would that he were called by his name, like Zaccheus; or that a vision of the risen Christ were vouchsafed to him, as to Saul of Tarsus. Thus he speaks to himself. But such wishes are vain (Rom_10:6-9).
3. So also, not seldom, with sincere Christians. What is truth? What is duty? What is the one and only right thing for me to do? These are hard questions. Often they cause much pain. Then, perhaps, the thought arises, would that I had a teacher that could be wholly trusted; would that I could place myself under the care of some infallible guide, whom it would be always safe to follow. Wordsworth speaks of this as the universal instinct of repose--the longing for confirmed tranquillity. But this is not, Gods way of rest. We cannot thus evade our duty, or cast our responsibilities upon others. It is only the truth that commends itself to our own consciences that is truth to us. It is only tim duty that we see in the light of the Cross, to be binding upon ourselves, that we can perform with freedom and delight (Gal_6:5).
II. It is vain to hope for rest by mere change of outward condition. We are prone to blame circumstances. We delude ourselves with the belief that if we could only get things ordered better, or obtain a more favourable position, that all would be well. The facts before us we cannot alter, but what might be, we have in our own power, and delight to paint in the brightest colours. The imagined otherwise is the practical heaven of multitudes. The sick man racked with pain, craves for change. In the morning he says, Would God it were even! and at oven, Would God it were morning (Deu_28:67; Job_7:4). The man oppressed with poverty sighs for riches. He flatters himself with dreams of what lie would do if he were rich; how kind he would be to the poor, etc. So the man who is discontented with his lot, whether it be high or low, whether it be in regard to worldly or spiritual things, is always wishing for some outward change. If we only had better advantages, more light, more freedom, more sympathy, more power to carry out our plans; how different would it be. It is so easy to set things all right by an if. We have a striking example of this spirit in Absalom (2Sa_15:4). Like him, we are too much the slaves of vanity. We have not our true place. We have been slighted. We have been denied the opportunities which others have had. Thus we excuse ourselves for inaction. And yet, all the time, we have abundant proof that what is wanted is not change of place, but change of mind; and the voice of God is over pealing in our ears, Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.
III. It is vain to hope for rest by flight from the immediate causes of distress. There are times when flight is expedient (Mat_10:23; 2Ti_2:22). But it can never be right nor good to flee from duty. What we are called to do or to bear may be painful, and almost too hard for flesh and blood. Still it is better to remain than to fly, as it is better to have a good conscience than an evil conscience, and to have God for us, than against us. Besides, flight may prove a vain resource (Amo_5:19). And yet there are many who try this device, contrary to all reason and experience. There are people who, like Herodias, endeavour to quiet their consciences by silencing the voice of the preacher (Mar_6:16; Mar_6:19). There are others who, when the Word of God troubles them, would put it out of the way, if possible, like Jehoiakim (Jer_36:21-32). Vain. Gods Word cannot be destroyed. If one roll is burnt there is another ready to be produced. (W. Forsyth, M. A.)
Rest
(Psa_55:6. with Psa_37:1-40, Psa_37:7):--These verses utter mans cry for rest, and Gods response to it. Man wants to fly away, but that would be of no use. Our rest is in God. The world hopes there will be rest in the grave. But there is rest now.
I. What is rest?
1. It is not mere quiescence and inactivity. The rest of the glorified is perpetual service, and our rest is in the fulfilling of the purposes for which we were created.
2. Nor is it freedom from responsibility, or conflict, or difficulty, or sorrow.
3. But it is rest in the midst of them all.
II. And this is possible; for God is the home of the soul, The wicked it is who are like the troubled sea, though many Christians are often troubled enough. But if they have right to be so, then the Scriptures are not true. For they are full of promises of rest. And experience declares such rest possible. Wordsworths lines, There are in this loud stunning tide, etc.
III. The sources of unrest. These are unbridled passions; unexplained mysteries; unlimited cares; unsatisfied affections. But there is not one of these in which we may not rest in the Lord.
IV. This rest involves knowledge of God. Submission; trust. (Charles New.)
Dove-wings
Are these words such as we should appropriate? Our sympathy with the prayer depends much upon our mood of mind and what are our own experiences. Those of the psalmist were such as made his prayer readily comprehensible and excusable. But it is not always so. Therefore, try the prayer--
I. By the Masters spirit. He never, though so sore beset, prayed such prayer.
II. By the relation we sustain to others. At almost any time, save in lifes eventide, it would seem selfish. I know how beautiful it does appear at times, to talk of the quiet sleep. Presently we shall have done with weariness and weeping. The mill-wheel of duty will stop! We say to ourselves, as we think of death, When that comes, others will know what parents, lovers, brothers, we have tried to be! But immediately the last sleep loses its dream-like beauty when we turn round to think of these others, and of the relation we sustain to them; this no others can fill; none, with humility we think, could serve them so well. Heaven to us would mean not only the grief of absence for them, but the strain of endurance and the hard fight of life for others. It would cast upon them burdens they are ill able to bear, and our rest would be purchased at the cost of a too hard endeavour by those we love. Looked at by itself alone, the heaven-rest may at times be ardently longed for when work and worry go hand in hand--when routine is like a drill-sergeant--when the chariot of duty has to be pulled up-hill; but to the wise man, to the thoughtful woman, it is only a passing vision, and this prayer is unspoken because its fulfilment would be unkind to others.
III. By the permanent tests of experience. I mean the long experience of life as a whole. Has not that been a gracious experience, a long history of mercy? If there have been times of sorrow, there have been other and more times of joy, and then our prayer was, O my God, take me not away in the midst of my days.
IV. By the light of that age. Some critics think there was no belief in immortality at all amongst the Hebrews. Then why were such words as these spoken? A mind and a heart like Davids could never have wished to lie down in full forgetfulness, to claim eternal brotherhood with the valley clods. Rest? Annihilation is no rest. Such rest wants no wings--the dagger of a Brutus could give it in the briefest moment of time. These psalms would lose their richest beauty and glory if we simply had to read immortality into them. Their charm would be weakened, and their holiest inspiration gone. True, if we had to do with one such expression alone, we might feel it improbable that David referred to the great immortal rest. But it is not so! (Psa_17:15). In reply to the cry, O that I had wings! we answer, You have! That is just what you have--wings! to fly up into the very heaven of God. This is the characteristic of the soul--that we can rise higher than mere intellectual argument--for what is denied to the calculating reason can be glimpsed by the despised imagination; for there are things of faith, whereby we rise to God.
V. By the seasons in which it is befitting and beautiful, As in the Nunc Dimittis of the aged Simeon. What more natural than that he should now close his eyes in the last sleep? So there are seasons coming when the prayer will have a fitting charm for the soul. As we near the evening of lifes busy day we may offer it with lips of wisdom, as well as with a heart longing after home. (W. M. Statham.)
The restlessness of human ambition
Would we see an object to the greatest advantage, it must be some distance off from us. The poor mans but, ragged and full of squalor within, yet even from a due distance may appear a sweet and interesting cottage. The field grown over with thistles, at a distance charms the eye by its verdure. The marshy, stagnant and malarious lake seen at a distance is full of beauty. The country hamlet distance can transform into a paradise of beauty, in spite of the abominations that are at every door, and the angry brawlings of the men and women who occupy it. And this explains the feeling which some of us may have experienced; we fancy that if we were removed to some other distant place we should be happier than where we are. Instead of resting in the quiet enjoyment of what we have, our wishes wander abroad, and we are ready to say, O that I had wings like a dove, for then I would fly away and be at rest. But it is important to be observed that when we have reached the wished for spot, rest is as far from us as ever. Now, all this is true of the region of the soul and the moral nature. We think that what we have not must be better than what we have. Am I unlearned? I sigh for the name and distinctions of philosophy. Am I rich? I would sooner be in a humble position. Poor? I envy the rich. Single? My fancy warms at the conception of a dear and domestic circle. Am I embroiled with family cares? I wish I were single again. The truth is, we never rest. We always want something more than we haw. And when we have exhausted every personal ambition we have friends and children to provide for, and here is a never-ending source of ambition and anxiety. This is not peculiar to any one class. You see it at court, but you see it in the cottage too. It is the universal property of our nature. In the whole circle of our experience, did we ever see a man sit down to the full enjoyment of the present without a hope or a wish unsatisfied? Look into the heart, which is the seat of feeling, and we find a perpetual tendency to enjoyment, but not enjoyment itself; the cheerfulness of hope, but not the happiness of actual possession. Man lives in futurity. It is not the reality of to-day which interests him. It is the vision of to-morrow. Where, then, is that resting-place which the psalmist aspired after, and that he might reach it he prayed for the wings of a dove? It is not to be found on this side of Death. How important, then, that not the littleness of time, but the greatness of eternity; not the restless and unsatisfying pleasures of the world, but the enjoyments of heaven so pure, substantial and unfading, should be the object on which our hearts should be set. (Thomas Chalmers, D. D.)
The vagueness and endlessness of human aspirations
These words prove the essential identity of human nature seen with human nature thousands of years since. They are very ancient, but their spirit is perfectly modern. The first of modern essayists has said that the great characteristic of modern life is worry; but it should seem from the text that it was the great characteristic of ancient life too; for if there ever was such a thing in this world, here we have the utterance of a thoroughly worried man. And see what he says. From the midst of countless cares, fears, and griefs, he wearily looks up; he plainly sees that where he is, the day will never come in which cares, griefs, and fears will not still surround him; and so he bursts out into a vague, hopeless, yet passionate cry--he cannot dearly say for what--but only that he might get away to some place--he does not know where--in which these should be done with for ever! I spoke of the essentially modern tone of that fancy as proving how like we are now to what King David was centuries ago--as proving that man is always essentially the same. Do you not remember that when the greatest living poet wishes to set before us a human being of this age, restlessly dissatisfied and disappointed, he puts upon his lips words which look almost like this vague aspiration of the psalmist? He represents him, too, as confusedly wishing that he could get anywhere away from where he was; that he could burst all links of civilized habit and leave all traces of civilized man behind him. And no doubt we can all at times sympathize with the fancy; for it is certain fact that the many advantages of civilization are to be obtained only at the price of countless and ceaseless worry. No doubt we must all sometimes sigh for the woods and the wigwam; but the feeling is as vain as that of the psalmists aspiration in the text. But it is just this thing which makes the aspiration in the text one so practically profitable for us to think of; it is just because in its vagueness, its unreasonableness, its endlessness, it is so accurate a type of the endlessness and the vagueness of human aspirations. Oh, give the psalmist the swift wings; and whither could he fly? Give him all the universe to choose from; and where would he find the place where he could be at rest? Give men all this world could yield them; tell men that for the naming it, they shall have every wish gratified to the utmost, that begins and ends on this world and this life; and they will be as far from rest for their weary souls as ever. And, thank God, we know the reason why. It is because this is not our rest. It was because God had unalterably fixed and appointed, that worldly things alone can never make the soul of man permanently happy. You think to make yourself content and happy without the good part in Christ, and the reconciled love of God in Him; you cannot, it is impossible. God says No to that; it cannot be done. If you think and try to find real rest for your soul away from God in Christ; if you think to be really happy away from Christ, you are thinking and trying to do what, by the make of your being, is impossible. You might as well think to quench the thirst of the parched throat with sand, as to satisfy mans thirst for happiness with anything merely worldly. You are on the wrong course altogether when you try to do that. Now, it would be our salvation could we only feel and realize the fact that this world is not our rest; that rest and peace are only in God as seen in Christ. The wings and the wilderness would not have made the psalmist happy; and no imaginable worldly blessings will ever suffice to make us so. The only real rest that the soul of man can ever know, is that which is given by Him who said, Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. And not even that rest, given by the Redeemer to His own, is perfect in this present life; the best believers heart will be many a time disquieted and perplexed, so long as he abides here. There remaineth a rest for the people of God. It remaineth; it is waiting for them, far away. This is not our rest; our rest is beyond the grave. (A. K. H. Boyd, D. D.)
The souls desire for rest
I. The rest desired. We do not know when David wrote this psalm, nor does it matter. He often longed to rid himself of present entanglements, only get away from such men as Job, only escape from the sea of cares in which he was plunged, he might be happy. We all know the fooling. We all know what it is to have such a dissatisfied feeling with our present circumstances. We may, then, I think, find it interesting and profitable to inquire what really is the rest which the soul craves.
1. There is the rest of reconciliation with God. We can never entirely forget our relation to God.
2. Deliverance from trouble. Trial, temptation, doubt--these are forms of trouble which extort this cry. The dying saint cries for this rest.
II. The means by which this rest was to be attained. O that I had wings like a dove. This suggests--
1. The instinctive desire for home as the resting-place. Reference is made here, evidently, to the wonderful instinct of the carrier-pigeon. Hundreds of miles away it will with unerring instinct find its home, drawn as by an invisible cord. So the soul longs to return to God, its true home. In those better moments that sometimes come to mens hearts, you feel the desire to be reconciled to God, and thus obtain deliverance from the fear you entertain at the thought of meeting Him. You have felt like a child away from home, who fancies all would be well with him if he were again at home. The biographer of Michael Bruce tells us that, when he felt he was dying, the young heart yearned for home--for a mothers hand, a mothers face, a mothers kiss, a mothers love--so have you felt the desire for home, wondering, it may be, how to get back to God, and how to make your peace with Him, but conscious that your heart will not be at rest until you have the light of His countenance lifted up upon you; and your cry is, with the psalmist, O that I had wings like a dove; for then would I fly away and be at rest. And if I speak to any who are restless and dissatisfied with the life of sin, and whose consciences are speaking to them of God their Father, I would say to them, Listen to the voice of conscience--return to God, and you will find your sins forgiven, your fears removed, the past forgotten, and the future radiant with hope. Come home, poor prodigal, come home.
2. The second idea suggested by this figure is the directness of the doves flight home. When instinct has taught the bird where home lies, it makes straight for it--you cannot hinder its flight, or turn it aside. Instinct will not allow it to rest until it has returned to the dove-cote. Would that souls took such direct course in their way back to God. How wearily did Luther toil in his round of ceremonies before he found his true way to God.
3. The swiftness of the doves flight home. Give the carrier-pigeon the wing, and not only does it make direct for home, but with an easy speed that distances the fastest train. Its eagerness to return gives speed to its flight, as, with unwearied wing, it pursues its homeward journey. So will it be with the soul that has not only been awakened, but has discovered the direct way to return. It will hasten to be at rest. The flight of the dove is, after all, slow compared with the act which takes the soul to God in Christ. Swift, indeed, is the flight of the dove. And what are the wings that bear the soul to its rest? We can understand how the dove wings its way homeward. We can understand how the wanderer returns home--but how does the soul get back to God? or, in other words, how does the soul become reconciled to God? It is by faith. Faith furnishes the wings, and thus the soul returns to God. Thus it is that the penitent soul may mount, in a moment, from the pit of ruin to the rest of home, and the prodigal may return home on the wings of faith with swifter motion than dove ever knew, and so for ever be at rest. (James Jeffery, M. A.)
The cry of humanity for rest
I. The exclamation is perfectly natural. Who can think of the daily life of our merchants with all their ventures, investments and transactions, without feeling that without anything of indolence or the mere spirit of repining, thousands of men and women legitimately long to get out of the care and clamour of life; to get far away into the refreshing silence and solitudes of nature, where the wearied spirits and jaded faculties may find rest?
II. The wish is not always creditable. Instead of crying out, O that I had wings like a dove--O that I had the spirit of a man, both to discern clearly what the Lord has given me to do, and the spirit of activity and obedience to go and do it, and do it perseveringly, while life and health are given, so that when rest comes it may be enjoyed as a boon after honest toil, and not wear the aspect of a premature or dishonourable repose.
III. Sometimes it turns out to be a mistaken wish. Under circumstances of trial and great pressure of duty the cry goes forth, O that I had wings. You determine to cut the cable that ties you to local engagements and arduous duties, and you flee away as fast as the wings of steam can carry you to some secluded spot--to a lodge in a vast wilderness, some boundless contiguity of shade. But lo! when arrived there, have you not sometimes found that your cares and anxieties, from which you would fain escape, have travelled with you by the same train or boat? You need not go out of this psalm for the answer--for the best of all antidotes to this complaint. David knew it. He not only repaired to the wilderness, he betook himself to God (Psa_16:1-11; Psa_17:1-15.). He prayed, and like Luther in later days, he prevailed. In Psa_55:22, the fugitive, but devout king, from the depths of his own experience, gives this blessed piece of advice to all anxious souls, Cast thy burden upon the Lord, etc. (D. Jones, B. A.)
Seeking rest by flight
This disposition to seek rest from our burdens by flight is as prevalent to-day as in the days of the psalmist. We still try to fly away from our difficulties instead of seeking the strength of God to sustain them, and I want to ask your attention to one or two ways in which this flight is sometimes made. Here, then, is a man whose business affairs are becoming involved. His resources are being more and more impoverished. He feels as though he is being gradually and relentlessly closed in as by an iron wall. Night comes into his day, and the iron feet of anxiety crush all the joy out of his life. His cares accumulate until they become a huge burden, which lies like a cold, heavy stone upon his heart. This goes on for weeks, perhaps months. The worry gnaws away at his heart without ceasing, and makes him depressed, and nervous, and irritable, unpleasant to his family, disagreeable to his friends, and obnoxious to himself. At length when the burden is intolerable, he cries in the bitterness of his soul, O that I had wings like a dove, for then would I fly away and be at rest. Now, that is an evil moment, a moment fraught with infinite peril, when a man begins to think of flying away from his burden. For in these matters thought is so speedily followed by purpose, and purpose so speedily followed by action, that even thought itself must be regarded as pregnant with tremendous issues. When a man begins to think of flying away from his burden, depend upon it he will soon make an attempt to fly. And how is the attempt very frequently made? A vast number of men try to get away from the burden of their worries and cares by an excessive indulgence in drink. Again and again have I heard men say, I could bear it no longer; the burden was crushing me, and so I took to drink. And so the man uses drink as a kind of opiate. He takes that mind of his, which is heated hot with burning fears, and he plunges it in forgetfulness by means of drink. He takes to drink as a means of flight from care. Let me say, then, in the first place, that it is a most cowardly and selfish resource. It is cowardly if for no other reason than that it means a showing of the white feather; but it is cowardly for the additional reason that when a man takes to drink he deliberately sells his birthright, and throws away the prerogatives of a glorious manhood. He takes his pearls--the pearl of reason, the pearl of conscience, the pearl of will--and casts them before the swine of passion and lust. But it is more than cowardly, it is intensely selfish. It means that the man considers himself and himself alone. When a man flees to drink to gain rest from his burden, he does so at the expense of putting an extra burden upon somebody else. But it is more than cowardly and selfish; to fly to drink is useless. The man says, I will take to drink and be at rest. Does he find rest? He says, I will bury my sorrow. Where? In drink. Is the grave deep enough? Drink is the poorest cemetery I know in which to bury ones care. Everything you bury in drink has a speedy resurrection. Drink cannot hold it. Bury sorrow in drink, and it will soon rise again from its grave. But more than that--the sorrow reappears, stronger and heavier; the grave of drink in which you thought to bury it has only nursed and fattened it, and there it is wilder than ever! You fled for rest, and behold fresh trouble! Is it not, as that old herdsman, Amos, said, nearly three thousand years ago, As if a man did flee from a lion, and a bear met him? Let me now take another example. Hero is a man whose burden does not arise from an involved business, or from the worry which comes from an impoverished purse. It is not the care of the world which weighs upon him, but the burden of an outraged conscience. He carries a load of guilt which weighs upon his heart like lead. His burden depresses him, and produces lowness and insipidity of life. And so, while some men carry a load of care, this man carries a load of remorse. And this remorse seems to sit between the shoulders, as Dante says it does in hell, and with its sharp teeth is ever gnawing at the guilty mans life. At length the burden of guilt becomes intolerable, and the man cries out in his heart, O for the wings of a dove, for then would I fly away and be at rest. Here again is a perilous moment when a man begins to think of flying away from his burden. The thought will be followed by an attempt. The man who thinks of flying away from the gnawings of his conscience will soon be trying to fly away. And how is the attempt very frequently made? A vast number of people seek to get away from the burden of their conscience by an excessive indulgence in pleasure. They fly away on the wings of pleasure to be at rest! Now let us look at this. A man who has violated his conscience soon finds ordinary pleasures tame and tasteless. There is nothing like a sense of guilt for destroying the taste for the quieter pleasures of life. And so men seek refuge from guilt in sensational and distracting enjoyments. Revelry is sought as a means of gaining quietness and peace. When Macbeth had murdered Duncan, and Banquo had also been despatched, Lady Macbeth arranged a feast, that in company and revelry, and jest and song, the murderer might fly from the cries of his own conscience. And how did it succeed? In the very midst of the feast, when the merry-making was at its height, when jest and jollity freely flowed, Macbeth gave a great start, and cried, Never shake thy gory locks at me. What did he see? The ghost of the one he had murdered! The deed of yesterday intruded into the feast, and even in the very heart of pleasure painted before him the ghost of the one he had slain. Oh, these ghosts! these ghosts of yesterday, these ghosts of past sins, how they will glide into our revelries and change them into bitterness and pain! If we only knew how to get away from the ghost of guilt! I tell thee, conscience-burdened man, if thou take the wings of pleasure and fly to the uttermost parts of the sea, even there the ghost shall meet thee, the burden will remain. Be sure your sin will find you out; the ghost will rise before you in the very midst of the revelry and dance. Oh, men and women who feel the burden of guilt, dont seek to fly away from it. Bring it, and cast it upon the Lord. Tell Him that you have heard that with Him there is mercy and forgiveness and plenteousness of grace, and that you kneel at His feet if perchance there may be healing and strengthening for you. He will sustain you. Remember that He has, in untold number, relieved men and women whose consciences were as restless as yours, and whose guilt was as burdensome as yours, and He has imparted to them His own calm. He will likewise say to thee, Thy sins, which are many, are all forgiven thee. That forgiveness of God loosens the guilt which holds a man in bonds, just as the sun breaks up an ice-blocked river and lets the boats go free. (J. H. Jowett, M. A.)
Mans higher longings
And the question arises, What causes this longing after rest?--why do these hopes and fears, these dreamings and aspirations, these mental struggles after what lies so far away from the natural man, so constantly find their place in the story of human lives? The answer is surely plain and simple. It is because, though we are only imperfect men, yet we are still men made in the image of God; it is because the soul, the very light which God has placed within, though often shaded and darkened, is never wholly extinguishable by earth and the things of earth. Because, though all too often the sounds are stilled by the crash of the worlds unrest, there are times when in each heart the tones of the voice of God are heard calling to nobler and better things. Let us not drown that voice. Let us not grieve that Holy Spirit, lest He turn and leave us. Rather let us leave all to Him and, calmly confident in His power, rest in the certainty that as day succeeds to day, so shall each returning dawn see us further and further upon the track that leads to that goal for which we long; for there is a hand that guides. Nor is there the least uncertainty as to how He will work upon us. The teaching of the Gospel solves the problem, for there we learn that in the power of that Holy Spirit we shall be enabled to follow the Master. Yes, His strength will enable us who would, to come after Him, to deny ourselves, and, taking up our cross daily, to follow Christ. Only so; holiness like Christs, perfection like Gods, may only be had through Christ. Our wills must be subordinated to His, our steps planted in His footprints, everything and everybody must be given up that comes between Him and ourselves, each thought must be brought into harmony with His mind, and this, mark you, in a world where temptations to an opposite course are neither few nor far between--this, too, by men whose natures run directly contrary to such a course. (W. C. Hawkesley, M. A.)
The Biblical Illustrator, edited by Joseph S. Exell (c. 1880s–1900s) — public domain. Text from a community e-Sword module.
unfoldingWord translationNotes 2017 · CC BY-SA 4.0 Oh, if only I had wings like a dove!
Oh, if only I had wings like a dove!
This exclamation expresses something the writer wishes for very much. AT: "I wish very much that I had wings like a dove" (See: Exclamations)
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Then would I fly away
"If I did have wings, I would fly away"
See, then I would wander
"I would do that and more: I would wander"
Selah
This may be a musical term that tells people how to sing or play their instruments here. Some translations write the Hebrew word, and some translations do not include it. (See: Copy or Borrow Words)
translationWords
dove
rest
desert
selah
unfoldingWord translationNotes — © Distant Shores Media and the Door43 World Missions Community, licensed CC BY-SA 4.0. Source: git.door43.org/Door43/en_tn.