My Heart Is Not Proud

My heart, O Lord, is not proud,
I lift not up my eyes;
and things too great and lofty
I will not seek as prize.
     But I have still and quieted my soul
     like a weaned child within its mother's arms.
     I place my hope in You,
     Both now and evermore.

In grace You bid me look up;
my eyes look up to You;
As slaves look their Master,
I hope in all that's true.
     For I have still and quieted my soul
     like a weaned child within its mother's arms.
     I place my hope in You,
     Both now and evermore.

Our eyes look to the Lord God,
let mercy flow from heav'n.
We wait in humble posture
for grace that's freely giv'n.
     For we have still and quieted our souls
     like a weaned child within its mother's arms.
     We place our hope in You,
     Both now and evermore.

~D. Benning, 2011

As set to music....

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"It has always been my aim, and it is my prayer, to have no plan as regards myself; well assured as I am that the place where the Saviour sees meet to place me must ever be the best place for me."
—Robert Murray M'Cheyne, 1813-1843.

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From Spurgeon's, Treasury of David, Psalm 131:2—

[David says that he is] as a child that is weaned of afflictions mother. He had become as subdued and content as a child whose weaning is fully accomplished. The Easterners put off the time of weaning far later than we do, and we may conclude that the process grows none the easier by being postponed. At last there must be an end to the suckling period, and then a battle begins: the child is denied his comfort, and therefore frets and worries, flies into pets, or sinks into sulks. It is facing its first great sorrow and it is in sore distress. Yet time brings not only alleviations, but the ending of the conflict; the boy ere long is quite content to find his nourishment at the table with his brothers, and he feels no lingering, wish to return to those dear fountains from which he once sustained his life. He is no longer angry with his mother, but buries his head in that very bosom after which he pined so grievously: he is weaned on his mother rather than from her.

"My soul doth like a weanling rest,
I cease to weep;
So mother's lap, though dried her breast,
Can lull to sleep."

To the weaned child his mother is his comfort though she has denied him comfort. It is a blessed mark of growth out of spiritual infancy when we can forego the joys which once appeared to be essential, and can find our solace in him who denies them to us: then we behave manfully, and every childish complaint is hushed. If the Lord removes our dearest delight we bow to his will without a murmuring thought; in fact, we find a delight in giving up our delight. This is no spontaneous fruit of nature, but a well tended product of divine grace: it grows out of humility and lowliness, and it is the stem upon which peace blooms as a fair flower.