Psalm 39:13 O spare me, that I may recover strength, before I go hence, and be no more. When we thank God for our creation and preservation, we are true to an instinct which is rarely overpowered. We shrink from death just as the psalmist shrank from it, who, if he did net regard it as the end of all things, only dimly conjectured of a life to come. We shrink from death, and therefore from that which is wont to herald its approach, the loss of health, the decline of strength. True, there are those for whom the strain of incurable sorrow or hopeless disease has turned life into a living death; these cannot take into their lips the psalmist's entreaty and ask to be spared ere they go hence. We have heard men and women pray for death, and press for the assurance that their hour was come; but for most men life is sweet, and strength a precious boon. And what is it that makes it so? Is there something higher than animal instinct, something worthier than even the strong ties of human love to bind us to this frail existence and prompt the prayer for its continuance? Why prolong the "vain show" in which man "walketh and disquieteth himself in vain"? Surely that which makes recovery of strength so welcome a thing if once we know what issues upon our use of it, is the prospect of a new probation, a new chance of employing aright God's wondrous endowment of life. "The living, the living, he shall praise Thee," cried the king, who hung between life and death; and we, who, whatever we may reverently hope, are told of no opportunities save those given to us here — we who know how much we have done amiss and left undone, may still cry for respite when the close of all is upon us. There is, indeed, no passage in human experience so solemn as the rescue from mortal sickness. Never does God seem to deal so directly with the soul as when He makes life over again to a man by a fresh grant, and even when its shades have begun to fall, adjourns for him the night in which no man can work. What depth of meaning there is in the return to life from the gates of the grave, if only we have eyes open to God's dealing. Friends rejoice and congratulate, but there is something mere precious than the fondest welcome back to the world we were quitting; and that, I repeat, is the renewal of opportunity, the summons to "redeem the time," to repair the mistakes and omissions of the past. Yes, now we see how the years, freighted with golden possibilities, have been buried one by one in the bosom of an eternity which never gives up its dead. Well may we fear, when all looked so faulty and disordered, to face the account we have to give. We have trifled with a high trust, and we would fain retrieve our shame. We have numbered our days now in the glare of the immediate future, and would "apply our hearts unto wisdom," and therefore we cry, "Oh, spare me, that I may recover my strength before I go hence, and be no more seen." This, far more than the renewal of earthly opportunities, far more than the averting of sorrow from those to whom we are dear, is what gives value to convalescence. The Christian prays to be spared above all that he may learn and unlearn; that he may do more for God, for his fellow-men. He knows that lengthened days, unless it serves these ends, can be no boon at all. (Canon Duckworth.) Parallel Verses KJV: O spare me, that I may recover strength, before I go hence, and be no more. |
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