And who comforts like him? Go to some poor, melancholy, distressed child of God. Tell him the sweetest promises, whisper in his ear the choicest words of comfort. He is like the deaf adder—he listens not to the voice of the charmer, charm you never so wisely. He is drinking gall and wormwood, and comfort him as you may, you will get only a note or two of mournful resignation from him. You will bring forth no psalms of praise, no hallelujahs, no joyful sonnets.

But let God come to his child! Let him lift up his countenance, and watch—the mourner's eyes glisten with hope. Do you not hear him sing? "'Tis paradise if thou art here; if thou depart, 'tis hell!" You could not have cheered him, but the Lord has done it. He is the God of all comfort!

There is no balm in Gilead, but there is balm in God. There is no physician among the creatures, but the Creator is Jehovah-Rophi. It is marvelous how one sweet word of God will make whole songs for Christians. One word of God is like a piece of gold, and the Christian is the gold-beater, and can hammer that promise out for whole weeks.

So then, poor Christian, you need not sit down in despair. Go to the Comforter and ask him to give you consolation. You are a poor dry well. You have heard it said that when a pump is dry, you must pour water down it first of all, and then you will get water. So, Christian, when you are dry, go to God, ask him to shed abroad his joy in your heart, and then your joy shall be full.

Do not go to earthly acquaintances, for you will find them Job's comforters after all. But go first and foremost to your "God, that comforteth those that are cast down," and you will soon say, "In the multitude of my thoughts within me thy comforts delight my soul."