Charles H. Spurgeon on Psalms 137:1

They sat in silence; they remembered in silence; they wept in silence. —J. W. Burgon.

Verses 1-6. Israel was a typical people. 1. They were typical of God's church in all ages of the world. And, 2. They were typical of the soul of every individual believer. This Psalm is composed for Israel in her captivity. Let us go over it, taking its typical meaning.

1. When a believer is in captivity he has a sorrowful remembrance of Zion. So it was with God's ancient people: "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion" (Ps 137:1). In the last chapter of 2Ch 36:14-20, we find the melancholy tale of Judah's captivity. Many of their friends had been slain by the sword —the house of God was burned —the walls of Jerusalem were broken down —and they themselves were captives in a foreign land. No wonder that they sat down and wept when they remembered Zion. So it is often with the believer when led captive by sin —he sits down and weeps when he remembers Zion. Zion is the place where God makes himself known. When a poor awakened sinner is brought to know the Saviour, and to enter through the rent veil into the holiest of all, then he becomes one of the people of Zion: "A day in thy courts is better than a thousand." He dwells in Zion; and the people that dwell therein are forgiven their iniquity. But when a believer falls into sin he falls into darkness —he is carried a captive away from Zion. No more does he find entrance within the veil; no more is he glad when they say to him, "Let us go up to the house of the Lord." He sits down and weeps when he remembers Zion.

2. The world derides the believer in his captivity. So it was with ancient Israel. The Chaldeans were cruel conquerors. God says by his prophet, —"I was but a little displeased, and they helped forward the affliction." Not only did they carry them away from their temple, their country, and their homes, but they made a mock of their sorrows. When they saw them sit down to shed bitter tears by the rivers of Babylon, they demanded mirth and a song, saying, "Sing us one of the songs of Zion." So is it with the world and the captive Christian. There are times when the world does not mock at the Christian. Often the Christian is filled with so strange a joy that the world wonders in silence. Often there is a meek and quiet spirit in the Christian, which disarms opposition. The soft answer turneth away wrath; and his very enemies are forced to be at peace with him. But stop till the Christian's day of darkness comes —stop till sin and unbelief have brought him into captivity —stop till he is shut out from Zion, and carried afar off, and sits and weeps; then will the cruel world help forward the affliction —then will they ask for mirth and song; and when they see the bitter tear trickling down the cheek, they will ask with savage mockery, "Where is your Psalm singing now?" "Sing us one of the songs of Zion." Even Christ felt this bitterness when he hung upon the cross.

3. The Christian cannot sing in captivity. So it was with ancient Israel. They were peculiarly attached to the sweet songs of Zion. They reminded them of the times of David and Solomon —when the temple was built, and Israel was in its greatest glory. They reminded them, above all, of their God, of their temple, and the services of the sanctuary. Three times a year they came up from the country in companies, singing these sweet songs of Zion —lifting their eyes to the hills whence came their help. But now, when they were in captivity, they hanged their harps upon the willows; and when their cruel spoilers demanded mirth and a song, they said: "How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?" So is it with the believer in darkness. He hangs his harp upon the willows, and cannot sing the song of the Lord. Every believer has got a harp. Every heart that has been made new is turned into a harp of praise. The mouth is filled with laughter —the tongue with most divine melody. Every true Christian loves praise —the holiest Christians love it most. But when the believer falls into sin and darkness, his harp is on the willows, and lie cannot sing the Lord's song, for lie is in a strange land.

(a) He loses all sense of pardon. It is the sense of pardon that gives its sweetest tones to the song of the Christian. But when a believer is in captivity he loses this sweet sense of forgiveness, and therefore cannot sing.

(b) He loses all sense of the presence of God. It is the sweet presence of God with, the soul that makes the believer sing. But when that presence is away, the Lord's house is but a howling wilderness; and you say, "How can we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?"

(c) He loses sight of the heavenly Canaan. The sight of the everlasting hills, draws forth the heavenly melodies of the believing soul. But when a believer sins, and is carried away captive, he loses this hope of glory. He sits and weeps, —he hangs his harp upon the willows, and cannot sing the Lord's song in a strange land.

(d) The believer in darkness still remembers Zion, and prefers it above his chief joy. He often finds, when he has fallen into sin and captivity, that he has fallen among worldly delights and worldly friends. A thousand pleasures tempt him to take up his rest here; but if he be a true child of Zion he will never settle down in a strange land. He will look over all the pleasures of the world and the pleasures of sin, and say, "A day in thy courts is better than a thousand" —"If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning." —Condensed from Robert Murray M'Cheyne, 1813-1843.

Verses 1-2. The Psalm is universally admired. Indeed, nothing can be more exquisitely beautiful. It is written in a strain of sensibility that must touch every soul that is capable of feeling. It is remarkable that Dr. Watts, in his excellent versification, has omitted it. He has indeed some verses upon it in his Lyrics; and many others have written on this ode. We have seen more than ten productions of this kind; the last, and perhaps the best, of which is Lord Byron's. But who is satisfied with any of these attempts? Thus it begins: "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion." These rivers were probably some of the streams branching off from the Euphrates and Tigris. Here it is commonly supposed these captive Jews were placed by their task masters, to preserve or repair the water works. But is it improper to conjecture that the Psalmist refers to their being here; not constantly, but occasionally; not by compulsion, but choice? Hither I imagine their retiring, to unbend their oppressed minds in solitude. "Come", said one of these pious Jews to another, "come, let us for a while go forth, from this vanity and vileness. Let us assemble together by ourselves under the refreshing shade of the willows by the watercourses. And let us take our harps with us, and solace ourselves with some of the songs of Zion." But as soon as they arrive, and begin to touch the chords, the notes —such is the power of association —awaken the memory of their former privileges and pleasures. And, over whelmed with grief, they sit down on the grass; and weep when they remember Zion; their dejected looks, averted from each other, seeming to say, "If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy." But what do they with their harps? The voice of mirth is heard no more, and all the daughters of music are brought low. Melody is not in season to a distressed spirit. "Is any afflicted? Let him pray. Is any merry? Let him sing Psalms." "As he that taketh away a garment in cold weather, and as vinegar upon nitre, so is he that singeth songs to a heavy heart." They did not, however, break them to pieces, or throw them into the stream —but hanged them up only. They hoped that what they could not use at present they might be able to resume as some happier period. To be cast down is not to be destroyed. Distress is not despondency.

"Beware of deperated steps; the darkest day

Live till to-morrow, will have passed away."

"We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof." Let us pass from the Jew to the Christian in his Spritiual Sorrows. He who preach well, says Luther, must distinguish well. It is peculiarly necessary to discriminate, when we enter upon the present subject. For all the sorrows of the Christian are not of the same kind or descent. Let us consider four sources of his moral sadness.

1. The first will be physical. 2. The second will be criminal. 3. The third will be intellectual. 4. The fourth will be pious. —William Jay in "The Christian Contemplated."