C. Hassell Bullock[1] writes of the Psalms … 

The Book of Psalms is a record of God’s call and of his people’s response, enacted a thousand times in history. The Psalms are a photograph album of ancient Israel in its relationship and reaction to God who summons his people, and promises his presence and secures the future. Any time we try to interpret the Psalms, a journal of Israel’s life—so filled with joys and sorrows, inscribed with aspirations and failures—we find ourselves experiencing a catharsis of the soul.

J. Sidlow Baxter[2] writes … 

This Book of Psalms is a limpid lake which reflects every mood of man’s changeful sky. It is a river of consolation which, though swollen with many tears, never fails to gladden the fainting. It is a garden of flowers which never lose their fragrance, though some of the roses have sharp thorns. It is a stringed instrument which registers every note of praise and prayer, of triumph and trouble, of gladness and sadness, of hope and fear, and unites them all in the full multi-chord of human experience.

Ever since they were written, the Psalms have played a large part in the life of God’s people. The old time Hebrews used them in the temple worship, and the Jews of today still use them in the synagogue. The Christians of New Testament[3] times sang them, and all denominations of Christendom use them today.

But above all, they have ever been precious to the individual. In this Book of Psalms the tempted and tested gain fortitude from pilgrims of yesterday, whose feet have bled along the same thorny pathway. Here the suffering and sorrowing find a fellowship of sympathy which takes the bitterness out of their tears. Here the persecuted and the forsaken find reassurance in their time of need. Here the weeping penitent finds that which suits the broken and the contrite heart. Yea, here the Christian believer discerns the figure of his Lord, moving among the Psalms of David as truly as among the seven golden candlesticks of the Apocalypse. To all the godly these Psalms are an unmatched treasury of devotion, of comfort, of sympathy, and of gladdening reassurance. They are the sighings and singings of ‘men of like passions’[4] with ourselves, yet the very breath of heaven is in them.