8 Nor do they mutter through their throat, Like them are their makers, Every one who is trusting in them.
Framers of a graven image `are' all of them emptiness, And their desirable things do not profit, And their own witnesses they `are', They see not, nor know, that they may be ashamed. Who hath formed a god, And a molten image poured out -- not profitable? Lo, all his companions are ashamed, As to artizans -- they `are' of men, All of them gather together, they stand up, They fear, they are ashamed together. He hath wrought iron `with' an axe, And hath wrought with coals, And with hammers doth form it, And doth work it by his powerful arm, Yea, he is hungry, and there is no power, He doth not drink water, and he is wearied. He hath wrought `with' wood, He hath stretched out a rule, He doth mark it out with a line, He maketh it with carving tools, And with a compass he marketh it out, And maketh it according to the form of a man, According to the beauty of a man, To remain in the house. Cutting down to himself cedars, He taketh also a cypress, and an oak, And he strengtheneth `it' for himself Among the trees of a forest, He hath planted an ash, and the shower doth nourish `it'. And it hath been for man to burn, And he taketh of them, and becometh warm, Yea, he kindleth `it', and hath baked bread, Yea, he maketh a god, and boweth himself, He hath made it a graven image, And he falleth down to it. Half of it he hath burnt in the fire, By `this' half of it he eateth flesh, He roasteth a roasting, and is satisfied, Yea, he is warm, and saith: `Aha, I have become warm, I have enjoyed the light. And its remnant for a god he hath made -- For his graven image, He falleth down to it, and worshippeth, And prayeth unto it, and he saith, `Deliver me, for my god thou `art'.' They have not known, nor do they understand, For He hath daubed their eyes from seeing, Their heart from acting wisely. And none doth turn `it' back unto his heart, Nor hath knowledge nor understanding to say, `Half of it I have burned in the fire, Yea, also, I have baked bread over its coals, I roast flesh and I eat, And its remnant for an abomination I make, To the stock of a tree I fall down.' Feeding on ashes, the heart is deceived, It hath turned him aside, And he delivereth not his soul, nor saith: `Is there not a lie in my right hand?'
What profit hath a graven image given That its former hath graven it? A molten image and teacher of falsehood, That trusted hath the former on his own formation -- to make dumb idols? Wo `to' him who is saying to wood, `Awake,' `Stir up,' to a dumb stone, It a teacher! lo, it is overlaid -- gold and silver, And there is no spirit in its midst.
Worthy.Bible » Commentaries » Matthew Henry Commentary » Commentary on Psalms 115
Commentary on Psalms 115 Matthew Henry Commentary
Psalm 115
Many ancient translations join this psalm to that which goes next before it, the Septuagint particularly, and the vulgar Latin; but it is, in the Hebrew, a distinct psalm. In it we are taught to give glory,
Some think this psalm was penned upon occasion of some great distress and trouble that the church of God was in, when the enemies were in insolent and threatening, in which case the church does not so much pour out her complaint to God as place her confidence in God, and triumph in doing so; and with such a holy triumph we ought to sing this psalm.
Psa 115:1-8
Sufficient care is here taken to answer both the pretensions of self and the reproaches of idolaters.
Psa 115:9-18
In these verses,