What a wonderful mixture this psalm contains of tears and tragedy, of pathetic sorrow and fiery patriotism! We can almost certainly fix the time when it was written. The first party of exiles had just returned from Babylon, and had come to Jerusalem, where everything on which their gaze rested - the universal desolation and ruin - reminded them of what the spoiler had done, and brought back to their memory the horrors of those dreadful days when Jerusalem was besieged, and at length captured and destroyed. The psalm tells also of the land of their exile - their widespread plains watered by the artificial canals and rivers, in the construction and maintenance of which it is probable that many of the exiles were employed. These were the rivers of Babylon, by which they sat down and wept. And he speaks of the exiles themselves; how their captors bade them sing one of those songs for which their land was famous; but they would not. Their captors wanted to be amused, and thought that these Jews should help them by their song. But the sorrow and shame of their exile had smitten their hearts too terribly, and stifled all their power of song. All that there they were capable of was the fierce and almost frantic prayer for revenge with which the psalm concludes. But the text has wider application than merely to those sad circumstances which first called it forth. Hence -

I. INQUIRE WHAT IS MEANT BY "THE LORD'S SONG." Not only one inspired utterance, however beautiful or sacred, but all such psalms and hymns as they had been wont to sing in their happy homeland. And the Lord's song includes those many sweet songs which may have no words, but are sung in the heart of God's people, to their great joy and help. And in every case, whether with or without words, it is a song of the heart; the lips alone can never sing the Lord's song, for such song is not alone to the Lord, but from the Lord, inspired by his Spirit and taught by his grace.

II. WHEREFORE CANNOT THIS SONG BE SUNG IN A STRANGE LAND? It was not from mere sullenness that the exiled Jews refused to sing; nor from that pride in which the unhappy often entrench themselves; nor because they had lost all hope in God: they had not. But it was because of what Babylon itself was to them.

1. Babylon was "a strange land." In its merely physical aspects it was utterly different from all they had been accustomed to; but how much more in all its moral, social, and spiritual character! Hence there settled down upon them the deep depression and sadness which the sense of complete isolation and loneliness ever produces. Tears, but not songs, abound in such circumstances. It is ill to be separate, to stand apart, especially by our own will.

2. There was no sympathy, but a chill, designed contempt and dislike of all they held most precious. Let any one choose such surroundings, the Lord's song will be quickly silenced.

3. Babylon was the embodiment of the world-spirit. Splendid, proud, magnificent; but hard, cruel, godless. That spirit and the Lord's song cannot coexist.

4. Was full of idols. See the prophet's scorn of them (Psalm 135:15, etc.). And human hearts are yet haunted by idols not a few; but if so, then the Lord's song cannot be sung.

5. Was full of sin, corrupt to the core. But the heart that holds to sin, any sin, silences the Lord's song. - S.C.

The temple music had a reputation even among the heathen peoples of Central Asia; and it seemed natural that the sacred words and music, which had for ages set forth the worship of the one true God, should furnish a more refined amusement for the cultivated pagans who had trodden down the sanctuary and had enslaved God's people. But the heart of captive Israel beat true to what was due to the honour of God, and to the memories of their ancient worship. "How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?" Nay, this request of the heathen oppressor that the captives should sing the Lord's song for his aesthetic gratification nerves the psalmist to a sterner mood. He cannot forget how, in those dark hours, a race of kinsmen by blood had cheered on the heathen foe in his work of destruction. Already he sees the approaching capture of the city by Darius Hystaspis. Her young children are dashed against the stones by the Persian invader. But, meanwhile, if the psalmist is asked to prostitute his gift by singing the old temple songs merely to amuse the heathen, there are many reasons which make compliance impossible. "How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?"

I. THE LORD'S SONG.

1. It meant for Israel all that was precious to the soul; but for the Babylonians it meant merely entertainment, merely a newly incited curiosity, merely a new sensation in the world of art. There was nothing common to Israel and Babylon in their way of looking at it.

2. Any ancient hymn of king or prophet which had passed into the service of the sanctuary bore that name. There is one prayer with which no other prayer may compare, and which alone in Christendom bears the name of the Lord's Prayer. But there is, at least on earth, no one psalm or hymn which bears the name of "the Lord's song." Whatever may be the case with the new song of the everlasting future, the religious hymnology of earth is, and always has been, almost infinitely varied in its expression; and yet at bottom it is one — one in its motive, one in its spirit and its effort, one in its surrounding moral atmosphere.

3. What is it but the ascent of the soul towards the infinite and the eternal, the upward bounding of the understanding, the expansion of the affections, the effort of faith, and hope, and love, to utter themselves somehow in praise? Although the words, the languages, the rhythms, the melodies, should be most dissimilar, this — this, the true song of the Lord; springing out of the very heart of the people of revelation, and embodying its creed in poems of the most different ages and characters — this it was which could not be uttered for the mere gratification of pagan Babylon — could not, at least, without profanity.

4. If it had only been the old poetry of the Hebrews — only their ancient music — they might, perhaps, have consented to render it before a Babylonian audience. But, for the Jews, language was a much more sacred tiring, speaking generally, than, I fear, it is to us. The Jews did. not conceive of language as a something which might be stripped off thought, like bark from the surface of a tree. For them, thought and language always went together.

5. It sounded through the corridors of the soul before it took shape in language, and resounded beneath the vaults of the temple; and this — this sense of its reality, made it impossible for a good Jew to prostitute it for the benefit of a pagan audience who might think of it as a new sensation in art.

6. Poetry, music, painting, architecture, all have their place in the sanctuary of God. And what has once been given to Him is His — His irrevocably — His for ever. Poetry or music which has been dedicated to Him, and which has lifted souls up to Him for many a generation, cannot be divested of its purpose, and made the amusement of the unbelieving, without wounding Him to whom it was given by the faith and love of the gifted dead.

II. IN A STRANGE LAND.

1. This was apparent, first of all, in the difference of the language. Although the Baby-Ionian tongue had affinities with the Hebrew, it was practically for the Jews a foreign language. We know how it affects us, when we first go abroad, to hear another than our mother tongue being talked all around us. It produces, at least at first, a sense of isolation; and this must have been deepened in the ease of the Jews by the fact that they certainly did not go to Babylon for their own satisfaction. In time, no doubt, the captive Jews learned much of the language of their conquerors, and, in fact, brought it back with them to Palestine; but at first it was a barrier between them; and this would, of itself, have made them unwilling to sing the Lord's song in their own ancient Hebrew to strangers who could not follow it. The language of religion is, and must be, unintelligible to those who do not share the faith and the feelings which prompt it. "The natural man perceiveth not the things of the Spirit of God; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned." And the sense that this is the case often makes a Christian, when in general society, retire into himself, lest he should break his Master's precept against giving that which is holy unto the dogs, and casting the pearls of heaven before swine. If the soul is to sing the Lord's song with the lips as well as with the heart, it must be among those who can speak its own language.

2. Babylon was the land of material wealth; it was the great world-city of the ago. It had its attractions, no doubt, but it was not the place in which to sing "the Lord's song." That song proclaimed in its very earliest notes — witness the one psalm of Moses, "Domine, refugium" — it proclaimed the insignificance of this human life at the best — the poverty, the perishableness of all that belongs to time. The soul of man is, after all, finite; and when the soul is filled with this world there is no room for the next. We could not ourselves well sing the "Gloria in excelsis" in the Stock Exchange or in a West End club; and the Jews felt that Babylon was not the place for singing the song of the Lord which had been the joy and the glory of their ancient sanctuary.

3. Babylon was a land in which life was overshadowed by a vast idolatry. Now, how could the old psalms of Israel, instinct with the memories of David's life and of Solomon's glory, and of the solemnities of the now destroyed temple, be sung in such an atmosphere as this? If sacred associations were to have any value — if sacred words were to mean anything, could they be prostituted to the amusement of a race which was devoted to a hideous and cruel superstition? No. Captive Israel might sing the songs of the captivity, such as was this very psalm itself. It might sing these in secret assemblies of the faithful; but to render the old temple hymns before a heathen crowd of idolaters — this, this was impossible. Is not the Christian soul often carried captive, nowadays, into the Babylon of unbelief or of half belief? Is not the place in our thoughts which is due to God often tenanted by abstractions, which are just as senseless as the idols of Babylon — creations, it is true, of our thoughts, instead of being creations of our fingers? "Nature," "force," "law," and what not — generalizations of our own minds as we look out upon the universe around us — these are, too often, placed upon the throne of the one infinite, eternal, self-existing Being.

4. There hung over all the magnificence of Babylon a dense atmosphere of sin, which made it impossible for the servant of God to sing his song — to do more than complain: "How long, O Lord? How long?" And the regenerate soul may be carried captive, some of us must know, too well, into this Babylon of deadly sin. It may be carried captive; it may at once make its escape and return. Happy are they with whom it fares thus. But, supposing that the soul is detained in Babylon — supposing that habits of evil are formed, and that the enfeebled will is held down by bolts and bars which it cannot break — then how is it "to sing the Lord's song"? How is it to mount upon the wings of desire and hope to the throne of the All-Holy, whose laws it the while sets steadily at defiance? How can we sing the praises of our Maker, if we have not reason to be thankful to Him for the gift of an undying existence? — or the praises of our Redeemer, if our hearts do not tell us that we have been washed with His blood, and have not defiled our garments? — or of our Sanctifier, if we know that we have grieved Him, and that He has taken Himself from us? Better far — I had almost allowed myself to say — better far sing the songs of Babylon itself, than burn out the last surviving tenderness of the conscience by a service which cannot be but as odious to God as it is degrading to ourselves.

5. We may well, indeed, feel, all of us, that this life is an exile from our true home, and that, while we live it, we cannot, at our best, sing aright the song of the redeemed. The new song of the four awful creatures, and of the four and twenty elders before the throne of the Lamb — the new song which go man could learn bug the hundred and forty and four thousand which were redeemed from the earth — the song of Moses the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb, which is sung for ever and ever by them that have gotten the victory over the beast, and that stand on the sea of glass having the harps of God — what is all this but a description of the psalmody of the blessed, with the volume and with the perfections of which nothing that is heard on earth can compare?

(Canon Liddon.)