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Luther, on the Psalms “Sweeter also than honey, and the honeycomb” (Psalms 19:10). Where do we find a sweeter voice of joy than in the Psalms of thanksgiving and praise? There you look into the heart of all the godly, as into a beautiful garden, as into heaven itself. What delicate, sweet, and lovely flowers there spring up of all manner of beautiful, joyous thoughts toward God and His goodness! On the other hand, where do you find more profound, mournful, pathetic expressions of sorrow than the plaintive Psalms contain? The Psalter forms a little book for all saints, in which every man, in whatever situation, shall find Psalms and sentiments that apply to his own case, and be the same to him as if they were for his own sake alone; so expressed as he could not express them himself, nor find nor even wish them better than they are. In the other Books we are taught both by word and by example what we ought to do; this not only teaches, but imparts both the method and the practice with which to fulfill the word, and to copy the example. For we have no power of our own to fulfill the law of God, or to copy Christ; but only to pray and to desire that we may do the one and copy the other, and then, to praise and give thanks. What else is the Psalter, but prayer to God and praise of God; that is, a book of hymns? Therefore the most blessed spirit of God, the Father of orphans, and the Teacher of infants, seeing that we know not what or how we ought to pray, as the Apostle saith, and desiring to help our infirmities, after the manner of schoolmasters who compose for children letters or short prayers that they may send them to their parents, so prepares for us in this Book both the words and feelings with which we should address our Heavenly Father, and pray concerning those things which in the other Books He had taught us we ought to do and to copy, that so a man may not feel the want of anything which is of import to his eternal salvation. So great is the loving care and grace of our God toward us, who is blessed forevermore.” (From “A Song of Thanksgiving,” Br. Will Siekman, November 1954 Herald) |