Appendix
“Remember also thy Creator in the days of thy youth, or ever the evil days come and the years draw nigh, when thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them; or ever the sun, and the light, and the moon, and the stars be darkened, and the clouds return after the rain: in the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened, and the doors shall be shut in the streets; when the sound of the grinding is low, and one shall riseupat the voice of a bird, and all the daughters of music shall be brought low; yea, they shall be afraid of that which is high, and terror shall be in the way; and the almondtree shall blossom, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and the caper-berry shall fail: because mangoeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets: or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern; and the dust return to the earth as it was, and the spirit return unto God who gave it.”
* See p. 1;.
Exposition oi Ecclesiastes XII. 1-7
In many of the books of the Bible there occur lyrics which might be lifted out of the context and enjoyed by themselves; and one of the choicest of these is the description of Old Age in the last chapter of Ecclesiaste9, which is printed above. Even in the Revised Version it is not printed as poetry; but not only is it in spirit thoroughly poetical, but a hand very little practised could easily exhibit the parallelism in most of the verses.
The keynote of the poem is struck in the opening verse, where old age is described by the term “the evil days” or “the years of which thou shalt say, I have no pleasure in them.”... This is the natural view of old age. Perhaps one might call it the pagan view; because it is the view which sometimes led the heathen to expose their own parents to the elements, when these had reached the stage at which they werd useless and life was supposed to be no longer desirable even to themselves. It is the view expressed by a famous English poet, who was a clergyman by profession but a pagan at heart:
That time is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer,
But, being past, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.
In the verses which follow the effects of old age are described, first on the mind, then on the body, next on the functions of the body, and lastly on the temper of the mind.
First are mentioned the effects of old age on the mental powers — “Or ever the sun, and the light, and the moon, and the stars be darkened, and the cloud* return after the rain.” The language here is highly figurative, but by “the sun” appears to be meant the intellect or reason — what the Bible calls “the spirit” — which is, indeed, the luminary of the microcosm of human nature; and “the light” is the illumination of knowledge or principle which it sheds on the path. If this be correct, then “the moon” will denote the inferior powers of the mind — what the Bible calls “the soul,” as distinguished from the spirit — while “the stars” may be the five senses, which stand half-way between mind and body. All these — sun and light, moon and stars — are “darkened “: that is, the mental powers are enfeebled in old age: the senses no longer responding quickly to stimulus from without, the memory losing its hold, the intellect soon growing weary with exertion. “And,” it is added, “the clouds return after the rain.” In childhood and youth, after a rain of tears, the sunshine soon returns: sorrow is forgotten, and happiness and hope regain the mastery. But it is not so in old age: at this period of life losses and disappointments are so much the order of the day that no sooner, after rain, has the sky cleared up, than the clouds return again, foreboding another storm.
In the next verse we have the effects of old age on the body — “In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves, and the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened.” In all languages the body has been compared to a “house” — the house in which the soul lives. But here the different members of the
Exposition of Fcclcsiastcs XII. 1-7
body are compared not to the different parts of the house, as might have been expected, but to its different occupants — first the men, then the women. The place of the men is to keep watch and ward and to discharge the tasks requiring strength, the members employed for these purposes being the legs and the arms. These are “the keepers” that tremble and “the strong men” that bow themselves; for in old age the limbs shake and shuffle, and the arms grow shrunken and palsied. Then the women of the house are mentioned. They are called “the grinders “; and the reason is well known to anyone acquainted with Eastern manners; for no commoner sight meets the observer in any Oriental interior than the women grinding the corn between the upper and the nether mill-stones. Another characteristic feature of Oriental life is that the women “look out at the windows.” They are immured in the women’s quarters; but their natural curiosity impels them to take every opportunity of peering from behind the jalousies and through the lattices. There can be little doubt to which parts of the body reference is made in these images. In our own language we call certain teeth “molars,” from the Latin word signifying a mill, and the action of the upper and nether jaws in eating has an unmistakable resemblance to that of the stones in grinding. “The grinders,” then, are the teeth; and just as obviously “those that look out of the windows” are the eyes. But in old age “the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows are darkened.” Feebleness of vision is a common feature of old age, and not infrequently in the East, where ophthalmia
is exceedingly prevalent, it issues in total blindness.
Thirdly, the effects of old age on the functions of
the body are described —” And the doors shall be
Bhut in the streets, when the sound of the grinding
is low, and one shall rise up at the voice of a bird,
and all the daughters of music shall be brought low.”
I am not at all sure that the revisers have improved
matters by connecting these words more closely
than the Authorised Version did with what precedes,
and by pointing writh a semicolon, instead of a comma
before “when.” The sense of the preceding verse
is complete at “darkened,” and a new step is taken
in the description at the commencement of verse 4.
The door opened to the street is the symbol of
social intercourse and of traffic with the world; but
old age, unfit for the battle and the bustle, retires
within, to the chimney-corner; and the door need
not be open, for there is no longer the ceaseless
coming and going. The same cessation of the
activity of life — but with reference rather to the
inner than the outer — is beautifully expressed by
saying, “The sound of the grinding is low,” or
better, “The sound of the mill is low.” This
should not be thought of as having any reference to
eating, to which grinding in the previous verse is
compared. The idea is, that the whole tone of
life is lower — the passion and the pace, the glow of
ambition and the noise of exertion pass away — and
everything is on a lower key. Even the function of
sleep is no longer what it was; and so the old man
shall “rise up at the voice of a bird.” As the bodily
powers grow feeble, it might be expected that
Exposition of Ecclcsiastcs XII. 1-7
sleep would be longer and deeper; but the reverse is a well-known feature of old age: it awakens at the slightest noise — even the voice of a bird — and it rises out of bed at the crowing of the cock in the morning. The last feature here is — “All the daughters of music shall be brought low.” Old age is able neither with its “childish treble” to contribute to song nor, with its impaired hearing, to derive pleasure from the performances of others, and this is a general sign for the decay of the powers by which art is cultivated and the sounds and colours of the world are enjoyed.
Fourthly, the effects of old age on the temper of the mind are described — “Yea, they shall be afraid of that which is high, and terror shall be in the way; and the almond-tree shall blossom, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and the caper-berry shall fail.” Old age is “afraid of that which is high.” This is both literally and metaphorically true. Literally it is true; because one of the first signs of the oncoming of age is that people feel a hill: where youth is not even aware that an ascent exists, old age is out of breath. But it is equally true metaphorically: old age is “afraid of that which is high” in the sense that to it novel and arduous schemes are formidable. “And terror shall be in the way” — old age sees all the lions in the path. Youth sees not these: it sees only the ideal, not the steps of reality by which it has to be reached. Youth, unaware of its limitations, casts itself without hesitation into enterprises far beyond its powers; but old age is so conscious of its limitations that it shrinks from what it could easily accomplish. “The almond- tree shall blossom” is generally supposed to describe grey hairs; for the almond- tree, before its blossoms fall, is one mass of pure white from top to bottom. But this trait does not come in quite so well here as the one expressed in the next clause — “The grasshopper shall be a burden.” The grasshopper is a proverbial image of what is light and trilling; so, a mere trifle — the least exertion, the most trivial task — is a burden to old age. “And the caper-berry shall fail” — this is a startling change from the Authorised Version — “desire shall fail” — but the explanation is simple — that the caper-berry was used by the ancients, as it is by ourselves, to give relish to food. But it no longer excites the appetite of old age; and, when thus the desire even for food fails, the end cannot be far off, when “man goeth to his long home, and the mourners go about the streets.” In Eastern countries inhumation takes place outside the city-walls; and, as the procession wends its way to the cemetery through the streets, hired mourners follow the bier, emitting inarticulate sounds of grief or celebrating the virtues of the deceased in brief snatches of elegy.
At this point the poem takes a new start, in order that, after having expatiated on the frailties of old age, which precede death, it may characterise death itself; and the phrases in which this is done are incomparable in their beauty — “Or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern.” There are two images. The one is that of a lamp in a palace or temple,
Exposition of Ecclesiastes XII. 1-7
suspended from the ceiling by a silver chain, while the oil by which the light is kept burning is contained in a golden bowl. Night and day the lamp burns steadily on, and to this is compared the flame of vital force continuing to burn in the human organism. But, either through the corrosion of time or through some accident, the silver chain snaps, the bowl is dashed on the marble pavement, and the light is extinguished. And so, in death, is the light of life put out. The other image is equally fine. It is that of an Eastern well, where the water is fetched up from below in a bucket or pitcher, at the end of a rope, which is wound on a wheel or windlass. Thousands of times has the pitcher descended, thousands of times has the wheel revolved. But some day the pitcher will descend for the last time; some day will the wheel revolve no more; for it is broken. And how like to this is the action of the lungs or the heart, going on for a lifetime with unfailing regularity; but at last the heart gives its last beat, the lungs expand for the last time; and all is over.
“Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was, and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it.” This is the Authorised Version, the Revised here being the reverse of an improvement. The body of man, fair as it is and noble as are its functions, is after all but part of the clay of the world; and its destiny is to return, after its work is done, to the place whence it came — earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But the spirit of man is of loftier derivation: it is a particle of divine air, a spark of celestial fire: and, when released from its work in the service of the body, it returns to the place of its origin.
Such is the picture painted by the poet of Ecclcsiastes of man’s mutability and mortality. But for what purpose was it painted? This is mule unmistakably clear in the opening words of the poem, “Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth.” It is a description of old age intended not for the aged but for the young.
Why, however, cause these melancholy images to pass before the eyes of the young? Is the idea simply to warn them that they must die and, therefore, ought to be prepared? This is a strong motive in religion. Death, judgment and eternity are words which smite the hearts of mortals with awful solemnity; and, especially when the strokes of death happen to be falling near ourselves or the revolving seasons remind us that our time is short, the thought will flash sometimes across the most careless, “Prepare to meet thy God.” But, if this had been the idea of the Ecclesiast, he would not have placed death at the end of old age, but would have shown, in a series of striking examples, which it would have been easy to accumulate, how uncertain is the tenure of human life, and how, at any moment, death, coming from an unexpected quarter, may hurry man to his account; for it is this uncertainty that points the folly of trifling with religion and postponing to some future date the business of eternity. Although, therefore, this is a true thought, it is not the thought of the Ecclesiast. His is infinitely more original and more noble. What is
Exposition ol Ecclesiastes XII. 1-7
it? Why should the failure of the powers of mind and body in old age be a reason for remembering the Creator in youth? It is because religion is one of the pleasures of life — in fact, its purest and intensest pleasure — and, therefore, if it is wished to taste it at its best, this must be done whilst the powers of enjoyment are still keen, and before they have been blunted by inferior gratifications.
This thought is in accord with the message of the entire Book of Ecclesiastes, which is not, as it is often called, a pessimistic book, but optimistic in the highest degree. It is true, it denounces sinful pleasures; but there are other pleasures — pure and natural pleasures, such as those arising from industry, friendship and domesticity — which it not only does not denounce, but recommends, urging its readers not to miss them, but to drink deeply of them and, above all, not to linger, but to seize the cup while the power of enjoyment is still fresh. The greatest, however, of all such pleasures by far is God Himself. Therefore, whatever is missed, this pleasure must not be missed, but seized now, as long as the young are able to enjoy it — “Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth.”
This is a view of religion which has never occurred to many — many have never conceived of religion as one of the pleasures of life. But is it not the true view? If there be a God, must He not be man’s supreme happiness? Is not Jesus Christ the pearl of great price, for which it is worth while to sell every other possession? Away with the old notion, that religion is some kind of dose or potion, to be taken as an insurance against the terrors of eternity! Either religion is a delusion and a lie or it is the pleasure of pleasures.
The truth of this is especially manifest when the active side of religion is considered. What is religion on its active or positive side? It is the sharing of Christ’s enthusiasm, the doing of God’s work, the championing of the cause of progress in the world. How can dying men do this? They have no time, they have no strength. Christ needs hearts young enough to feel the sin and misery of the world, minds fresh enough to devise the best means for improving the condition of society, and hands vigorous enough to carry such plans into execution. In short, none will ever know the full joy and glory of such a religion but those who remember their Creator in the days of their youth.
That, therefore, which this poem describes is not old age as it must be or as it ought to be: on the contrary, it describes an old age which has to be combated and circumvented. This is the old age of the pagan or natural man. If it be not exactly the old age of a sensualist, who has worn himself out in excesses and has now to pay the penalty, still less is it a religious old age. A religious old age is a very different thing. Often is it described in the Bible in terms very different from those of this poem, as, for example, in the well-known Psalm:
Those that within the house of God
Are planted by His grace,
They shall grow up and flourish all
In our God’s holy place;
Exposition ot Ecclesiastes XII. 1-7
And in old age, when others fade,
They fruit still forth shall bring;
They shall be fat and full of sap,
And aye be flourishing.
This, then, is the argument: old age inevitably brings certain frailties and losses; but let those who would be able to cope with these remember their Creator in the days of their youth. This will ensure a very different old age from that here described. A sober, Christian life, as a rule, defers the advances of decay, the constitution remaining sound to the end. Cheerfulness attends a Christian’s advancing years; because the best is still in front, and his eyes are turned not to the setting but to the rising sun. Aged Christians, instead of being afraid of that which is high and throwing cold water on every scheme for the advancement of the world, are often more enterprising than their younger fellow -workers; for they have learned to put their trust in God and not in an arm of flesh. An indescribable influence accumulates around a saintly old age, when behind every act and word there rises the image of a well spent life. And, even if there be infirmity of mind or body, brought on by years, this only adds pathos to the testimony. The blessing of an old man falls with all the more impressiveness, when it is given with a feeble voice and a trembling hand.
There are many of the young who have the intention of living for the world for a time, and then, at the last, turning to God and preparing for eternity. They may never, indeed, have avowed this intention to themselves in so many words, but it is at the back of their minds, and it determines
their conduct. Now, this ancient poem was written to pulverise such an idea and scatter it to the wind as utterly unworthy and false. There comes to my recollection an incident which occurred when I was at the University and profoundly affected me at the time, as it did not a few besides. There was a student, very well known as an athlete, who had a bad accident in the football-field. After a day or two the rumour circulated among the students that he had been fatally injured and could not recover; and this proved to be the case. He had not been a dissipated man, but he had been a careless one. Some of his fellow-students who were admitted to his room spoke to him about eternity; and his mind was opened to receive the message of the Gospel. But, as he was on the point of accepting Christ, he turned round and, with a peculiar smile, said to the friend conversing with him, “Would it not be a mean thing, after giving my life to the devil, to take all this from Christ at the last?” It is to be hoped that this did not prevent him from receiving the gift of God; but every young and generous mind must sympathise with his sentiment.