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This and the psalm immediately foregoing are closely connected. The one sings of God in salvation, the other of God in creation. The first is a hymn; the second, a poem. The first is the peculiar song of the Church; the second, of all His manifold works. The opening of the psalm conveys a sense of being bowed down with the greatness of the Divine Majesty. No description of God is attempted. Only His robe is seen. Light is the robe of God, with which He has covered Himself. And water is the robe of earth, with which God has covered it. This thought governs the chief part of the poem. It might be called the water psalm. For physical life, as we know it, water is essential. God may have creatures formed of fire and living in the fierce stars. God has, we believe, beings of a spiritual nature. But in the natural universe it is only in that small region where water can exist that vegetable, animal, and human life are found. We can but live in earth's water robe. And grandly the psalmist describes it. In clouds the waters gather above the mountains, and await the Divine bidding. Then they hasten to their appointed work. Some roll up the hill sides in mists, some stream down in rivulets; all go to the place God has appointed them. In the deep seas they dance in waves, and roar on the beach, but keep their bounds. With splendid vivacity the poet then describes the water at work in sustaining life. The wild ass drinks, and his strength is renewed. The cedars of Lebanon have their draughts. The great trees, water sustained, provide homes for the singing birds. In them the stork has her house. Grass for cattle, bread and wine and oil for men, supplying varied needs, are produced. In the far-stretching sea there is vigorous life in many and varied forms. And as thus the waters are seen to obey their first command, to bring forth abundantly, there comes the beautiful remark, "These all wait upon Thee, O God," etc. The 104th psalm is very evidently a paraphrase of the 1st chapter of the Book of Genesis. There is this great difference, the psalm before us is rather a song of Providence than of creation. It does not speak of God as completing the machinery of earth and then setting it in motion and retiring for rest. It is God ever living, ever watching, ever at work. This psalm is the necessary supplement to Genesis. In the panorama at the opening of Holy Scripture there is calm and restfulness, but in the picture here all is movement. In the one God looks, and again and again pronounces all to be good. But here there are signs of the entrance of some element of restlessness and disorder. The mountain streams suffer rebuke — they are chased by thunder to their appointed place. When night comes the young lions are heard roaring after their prey. When the sun leads in the dawn man has to go to his toil and labour until the evening. There is something wrong. Signs of manifold wisdom are apparent, but there are darkness, want, toil, trouble, and death. A discord has evidently entered, and the perfect harmony is gone. Here then is a great mystery. Looking abroad upon nature, the prospect is that of a glorious creation, but with something wrong. It has been compared to a perfect chronometer into the works of which a pin has fallen. Science cannot but see much that is mysterious, and at times seem baffled. Creation tells of marvellous wisdom, but all is not right. It shows vast arrangements for happiness which something has marred. This world is a vase of exceeding loveliness, but it has fallen and lies shattered with jagged edges and points. The study of nature ever leads to the conclusion that it is the work of infinite wisdom, but spoiled in some mysterious manner. Everywhere are there signs of the handiwork of One who wrought for purity and peace and love, and everywhere is foulness and disorder and war. Fact or poem, Genesis gives the only solution. Sin has entered, and the splendid work is shattered. With a truer science than many of those who profess to study nature, the psalmist recognizes this and breathes the prayer, "May sinners pass away from the earth and evil-doers be no more. Bless the Lord, O my soul. Hallelujah." St. of Hippo, in his very remarkable series of sermons on this psalm, comes to the conclusion that a spiritual meaning must be sought. He will have water here to allude to "the love of God which is shed abroad on our hearts by the Holy Spirit which is given us." By the world which He hath so founded "that it shall not be moved for ever and ever," he says "I understand the Church." As light is the garment of God, and water the garment of earth, so is love the garment of the Church. It is only as she is robed in this that she is attired with beauty. It is her wedding garment, for he that loveth not is not in Christ. It is in love that God lays the beams of the chambers of His home where there are many mansions. It is love that flows up over the lofty mountains and down in cascades to the humble valleys, sometimes in rushing torrents, and sometimes in hidden springs. It is love that gives verdure and refreshment, and through which souls find a home. Love which is like a mighty sea wherein live creatures innumerable. In God's works in nature are seen His glory and majesty. In the Church is manifest His love. And it is as we consider this, that with sweetest notes we sing, "My meditations of Him shall be sweet, I will be glad in the Lord."

(J. H. Cooke.)

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KJV: Bless the LORD, O my soul. O LORD my God, thou art very great; thou art clothed with honour and majesty.

WEB: Bless Yahweh, my soul. Yahweh, my God, you are very great. You are clothed with honor and majesty.