MEDITATIONS FROM THE PSALMS

 

June 1, 2005                        Reading: Psalm 45

 

 “At Your right hand stands the queen in gold from Ophir” Ps 45:9

 

What a very wonderful and precious portion of scripture God has given you upon which to contemplate and meditate. My soul, if these words fail to stir you into praise and thanksgiving, nothing will. These words concern the King of Heaven, the One before whom we cast ourselves, laying prostrate before His majesty as did Ezekiel and John, the King of Glory and King of Kings.

Oh, my soul, see this Mighty Warrior going forth into battle with His sword on His thigh - “And He has on His robe and on His thigh a name written: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS” Rev 19:16. His thigh represents His might; His glory and majesty, and His title is no honory bestowment, it is well earned. He rides with His banner flying high proclaiming His truth, meekness and majesty. What a glorious sight he portrays before the host of heaven as He streaks into battle. He knows His enemy and the suffering He must endure in order to secure victory. Defeat is never an option but the battle must be fought.

Never would this Warrior King go into battle unprepared—His arrows are hammered to the peak of sharpness and He shoots them with unswerving accuracy into the very heart of His enemies. The blow is deadly. The enemy is defeated and the victory won. Listen to His cry of victory, “O Death, where is your sting? O Hades, where is your victory?"

But most precious to you, my soul, is the spoil of victory, for it is nothing more or less than you and your eternal welfare. Jesus has conquered the enemy who held you captive and has taken you and the souls of all His elect to be His own, His bride, His Queen. He has dressed you in the robes of righteousness and seated you together with Him at His right hand in glory. You are His Queen for ever by victory. No conqueror leaves the battlefield without the spoils of victory, and you, unworthy as you are, He has elevated to be His queen.

 

Ride on, O conquering King,

Go forth in truth and glory;

Listen as heaven’s hosts sing,

As You write eternity’s story.

 

Your bow is arched by might,

Your arrows smooth and sharp;

Your eye glides the arrow’s flight,

Its feathers whine like a harp.

 

Fast and direct they fly,

Straight to the enemy’s heart;

For ever Your foes will lie,

The enemy’s torn apart.

 

The spoil of vict’ry is Yours,

The love of Your Bride to glean;

Your wounds You gladly bore,

To make Your Bride Your Queen.

 

For ever she sits at Your side,

Clothed in garments so bright;

She sits, Your adoring Bride,

Reflecting Your glorious light.

 

Your robes of Cassia smell,

Of aloes and of myrrh;

My soul knows all is well,

As I sit without a stir.

 

It’s a joy to sit with You,

Won by Your sacrifice;

From where I sit, the view

Is of Him who paid the price.