Moses' song — and a Moses psalm to read with it

Moses’ last public act in Israel is to sing.

Deuteronomy 32 is the Song of Moses. Forty-three verses of poetry. Listen, heavens, and I will speak; hear, earth, the words from my mouth (Deut 32:1). The Father has been faithful. Israel has not. The song names both.

And running parallel through this final week of Moses’ life is Psalm 90 — the only psalm in the Psalter attributed to Moses by name. The 120-year-old man stops and writes a poem about time.

Lord, You have been our refuge in every generation. Before the mountains were born, before You gave birth to the earth and the world, from eternity to eternity, You are God (Ps 90:1–2). Moses begins by naming the Father’s eternity. Before the mountains. Before the world. From eternity to eternity.

Then Moses turns to look at us. They are like grass that grows in the morning — in the morning it sprouts and grows; by evening it withers and dries up (Ps 90:5–6). The contrast could not be sharper. The Father is eternal. We are grass.

And then comes the verse most people quote from Psalm 90. Teach us to number our days carefully so that we may develop wisdom in our hearts (Ps 90:12).

Number our days. Not because the days are too many. Because they are finite. The Father is eternal. We are not. The wisdom of a long life is the ability to count the days you have and to live them with intention.

Moses is 120 years old when he writes this. He has seen the brevity of life. He has buried his wife, his sister, his brother, an entire generation. He knows what he is talking about.

But Psalm 90 does not end in despair. Satisfy us in the morning with Your faithful love so that we may shout for joy and be glad all our days… establish the work of our hands (Ps 90:14, 17). The eternal Father comes near to grass that He has loved.

This is the deepest mystery of the Old Testament. The God who is eternal binds Himself to creatures who are not. Time meets eternity. The Father carries the grass through the morning and the evening.

Centuries later, the eternal Son will enter time. He will become grass. He will live a numbered life — about thirty-three years from birth to death. He will know what it is to be finite. He will die. And He will rise. The eternity that came near to Israel through a tabernacle and a song will come near in person, and the grass that bends will be lifted into the eternity it could not earn.

Today: number your days. Not in fear. In wisdom. The Father is eternal. You are grass. And He has loved the grass enough to walk into time and join you in it.