Psalms 42:4. When I remember these things, I pour out my soul in me: for I had gone with the multitude, I went with them to the house of God, with the voice of joy and praise, with a multitude that kept holy day.
You see, brethren, the more a man enjoys the means of grace at one time, the more he grieves when he loses them. "I had gone with the multitude." There is something very inspiring in worshipping God in a crowd; the joy is infectious, there is a holy contagion in it; as the sacred song floats upward from many joyous voices, we seem borne up upon its billows of praise. I like that word "holy day" even though it is rather like holiday, for our holy days should be our true holidays. There should be no rest to the Christian like the holiness of the Sabbath, the holiness should be the very joy of it. Keep it a holy day, and then it will be a holiday; try to make it a holiday, and then it will be neither a holiday nor a holy day. At the remembrance of these past joys, the psalmist’s soul was poured out like water, his heart was as water spilt upon the ground. See, brethren, how low a good man may come, and yet be safe; how near the rocks God’s ships may go, and yet not be wrecked.
Psalms 42:4. When I remember these things, I pour out my soul in me: for I had gone with the multitude, I went with them to the house of God, with the voice of joy and praise, with a multitude that kept holy day.
You see, brethren, the more a man enjoys the means of grace at one time, the more he grieves when he loses them. "I had gone with the multitude." There is something very inspiring in worshipping God in a crowd; the joy is infectious, there is a holy contagion in it; as the sacred song floats upward from many joyous voices, we seem borne up upon its billows of praise. I like that word "holy day" even though it is rather like holiday, for our holy days should be our true holidays. There should be no rest to the Christian like the holiness of the Sabbath, the holiness should be the very joy of it. Keep it a holy day, and then it will be a holiday; try to make it a holiday, and then it will be neither a holiday nor a holy day. At the remembrance of these past joys, the psalmist’s soul was poured out like water, his heart was as water spilt upon the ground. See, brethren, how low a good man may come, and yet be safe; how near the rocks God’s ships may go, and yet not be wrecked.