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O Thou, the first, the greatest friend
Of all the human race!
Whose strong right hand has ever been
Their stay and dwelling place!
Before the mountains heav'd their heads
Beneath Thy forming hand,
Before this ponderous globe itself
Arose at Thy command;
That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds
This universal frame,
From countless, unbeginning time
Was ever still the same.
Those mighty periods of years
Which seem to us so vast,
Appear no more before Thy sight
Than yesterday that's past.
Thou giv'st the word: Thy creature, man,
Is to existence brought;
Again thou say'st, "Ye sons of men,
Return ye into nought!"
Thou layest them, with all their cares,
In everlasting sleep;
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off
With overwhelming sweep.
They flourish like the morning flow'r,
In beauty's pride array'd;
But long ere night, cut down, it lies
All wither'd and decay'd.
Robert Burns, Scotland’s national bard, is best known for his lyrical vernacular poetry, his celebration of rustic life, and his radical humanism. Yet, among his vast body of work, The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm stands as a striking departure from his usual earthy, often satirical verse. This poem is a meditation on divine omnipotence, human transience, and the inexorable passage of time—a sobering reflection on mortality that resonates with both scriptural gravity and Burns’ characteristic emotional intensity.
To fully appreciate this work, we must examine its historical and cultural context, its literary and philosophical underpinnings, and its emotional impact. By situating Burns’ adaptation within the tradition of biblical paraphrase, analyzing its thematic preoccupations, and exploring its stylistic nuances, we can uncover the depth of this often-overlooked poem.
Burns wrote The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm in 1784, during a period of personal and financial hardship. Though he would later achieve fame with Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect (1786), at this time, he was laboring as a tenant farmer, wrestling with poverty, and enduring the recent death of his father. These biographical pressures may have influenced his turn toward devotional poetry, as the Ninetieth Psalm—traditionally attributed to Moses—is a profound meditation on human frailty and divine eternity.
The eighteenth century saw a flourishing of biblical paraphrases, particularly within Presbyterian Scotland, where metrical psalms were central to worship. Isaac Watts’ The Psalms of David Imitated (1719) had already popularized the practice of rendering scripture in contemporary verse, and Burns’ adaptation follows in this tradition. However, unlike Watts, whose paraphrases often softened the psalms’ severity, Burns amplifies their existential weight. His rendition is neither a strict translation nor a free reinterpretation but rather a poetic distillation of the psalm’s essence, infused with his own sensibility.
The central tension in Burns’ poem—and in the original psalm—is between divine permanence and human ephemerality. The opening stanzas establish God as the primordial architect of existence:
Before the mountains heav'd their heads
Beneath Thy forming hand,
Before this ponderous globe itself
Arose at Thy command;
Here, Burns employs the sublime to evoke creation ex nihilo, emphasizing God’s absolute sovereignty over time and matter. The imagery of mountains "heaving" and the globe "arising" suggests a dynamic, almost geological force, reinforcing the idea of a deity whose will shapes reality itself.
In contrast to this cosmic stability, human life is depicted as fleeting and fragile:
Thou giv’st the word: Thy creature, man,
Is to existence brought;
Again thou say’st, "Ye sons of men,
Return ye into nought!"
The imperative "Return ye into nought!" carries a chilling finality, underscoring the inevitability of death. Burns’ language here is stark, devoid of the sentimental consolation found in some religious poetry. Instead, he leans into the psalm’s stark realism, presenting mortality not as a gentle fading but as an abrupt annihilation.
The final stanza encapsulates this theme through the metaphor of the morning flower:
They flourish like the morning flow'r,
In beauty's pride array'd;
But long ere night, cut down, it lies
All wither'd and decay'd.
This botanical imagery, reminiscent of Isaiah 40:6–8 ("All flesh is grass"), serves as a poignant emblem of life’s brevity. The flower’s beauty is undeniable, yet its demise is swift and irreversible. Burns does not romanticize decay; instead, he presents it as an inescapable truth, heightening the emotional impact through understated simplicity.
Burns’ poem is rich in literary techniques that amplify its philosophical and emotional resonance. One of the most striking is his use of sublimity—aesthetic grandeur that evokes awe and terror. The depiction of God as an eternal, world-sculpting force aligns with Edmund Burke’s conception of the sublime as something vast and overwhelming. The lines—
That Pow'r which rais'd and still upholds
This universal frame,
From countless, unbeginning time
Was ever still the same.
—convey an almost Newtonian vision of cosmic order, where divine power is both the origin and sustainer of reality. The phrase "countless, unbeginning time" stretches the reader’s imagination toward infinity, reinforcing the insignificance of human temporality.
Another key device is paradox, particularly in the treatment of time. The psalmist (and Burns) juxtaposes divine eternality with human finitude:
Those mighty periods of years
Which seem to us so vast,
Appear no more before Thy sight
Than yesterday that's past.
Here, the vastness of geological or historical time collapses into a mere moment from God’s perspective. This temporal dilation serves a theological function—it humbles human pride by exposing our brief, fragile existence against the backdrop of eternity.
Finally, Burns employs metaphorical violence to depict death. The phrase "With overwhelming sweep" suggests a deluge, an image that recurs in biblical eschatology (e.g., Noah’s flood). Unlike the peaceful "everlasting sleep" mentioned earlier, this metaphor introduces an element of cataclysm, reinforcing the idea that mortality is not merely an end but an erasure.
Though Burns predates the high Romantic period, his engagement with themes of nature, time, and divinity anticipates later poets like Wordsworth and Shelley. Wordsworth’s "Ode: Intimations of Immortality" (1807) similarly grapples with temporality, though his tone is more elegiac than Burns’ stark realism. Where Wordsworth finds solace in childhood’s fading glory, Burns offers no such comfort—his vision is closer to Shelley’s "Ozymandias" (1818), where time’s ravages are inexorable and absolute.
Yet Burns’ poem is not nihilistic. Unlike Shelley’s atheistic despair, Burns’ meditation retains a theological framework: God’s permanence, though rendering human life brief, also provides a cosmic order. This tension—between awe and dread—places Burns within the tradition of religious sublime, akin to Milton’s Paradise Lost or the meditative verse of George Herbert.
At its core, Burns’ poem is an existential reckoning. It forces the reader to confront mortality not as an abstract concept but as an immediate reality. The emotional power lies in its lack of sentimentality—there is no promise of an afterlife, no softening of death’s finality. Instead, the poem’s weight derives from its unflinching honesty.
This approach aligns with certain strands of Enlightenment thought, particularly the memento mori tradition, which urged contemplation of death as a means of moral clarity. Yet Burns’ treatment is more visceral than philosophical; his language—"Return ye into nought!"—does not invite calm reflection but rather evokes a shudder.
The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm may lack the rustic charm of "To a Mouse" or the revolutionary fervor of "A Man’s a Man for A’ That," but it stands as one of Burns’ most profound works. In adapting the psalm, he does not merely versify scripture but reinvigorates its existential urgency. His language, at once majestic and austere, captures the paradox of human existence—our fleeting beauty against the backdrop of eternity.
In an age increasingly detached from religious certainty, Burns’ poem retains its power precisely because it refuses easy consolation. It is a reminder of poetry’s capacity to confront the most fundamental truths—of time, death, and the divine—with unflinching clarity. Whether read as a devotional exercise or a secular meditation on mortality, the poem endures as a testament to Burns’ versatility and depth, proving that even Scotland’s ploughman poet could grapple with the sublime.
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