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Are believers in the valley of tears? Is their dwelling place

Bochim and Baca? Well, God’s mercy outstretches all their

misery! Promises of grace dispel the mental gloom, and bear

away the ponderous loads of grief! The soft handkerchief of

love wipes off the furrowing tear! An inspired penman begins

the glorious sentence with an unanswerable question. “If God

spared not his own Son, but delivered him up to the death

for us all, how shall he not also with him give us all things?”

(Romans 8:32) Take comfort, then, you sons of sorrow; take

comfort, my soul! There is more in this verse than can be

comprehended! And there is more love in the heart of God

than any language, or idiom of speech, can convey to finite


If, for my sake, he has given his Son, what will he withhold

in all the creation? Is his creation—the breath of his mouth—

better to him than his eternal, co-essential Son? Is the work

of his hands dearer to him than his well-beloved bosom Son?

And has he given him to die for you—and then will he deny

you any necessity? No! He who feeds the soul with heavenly

manna—will support the body with daily bread! He who

gives drink out of the wells of salvation—will not fail to afford

a cup of cold water! He who has provided a robe of

righteousness, to cover the shame of my sin—will also give

wool in the cold season. He, who furnishes my inner man

with all the armor of God, will put a covering on my head in

the day of battle and war. (At this time the Author had a

view of entering into the navy, being time of war, as he did

some time after.) He, who in the counsel of peace, from

eternity, secured my peace, will also shine upon my path,

and decree what shall come to pass. He, who has written my

name among the living in Jerusalem, will also preserve (this

my faith pleads and expects,) my character, so that I shall

not shame what I profess in the world. He, who has destroyed

spiritual death, will also for me unsting natural death, and

spoil the grave of its victory!

Again, how can it be possible that God should give his

Son, himself, his all—and yet deny me any good thing? Will

not he who is to crown me with glory above—strengthen me

with grace below? Will he not bless me with peace of mind—

who is to be my peace forever? Triumph, O my faith! all things

are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s! And God, Christ, and all things,

are yours! Time is his, and in it I have my years numbered! The

air is his, and in it I breathe! The world is his—and on it I

dwell; its fullness is his—and I am fed! Grace is his—and in

it I stand! Faith is his gift—and by it I overcome the world!

Tribulations are from him—and in them I glory! Perfection

is his—and towards it I press! Death is his—and by it I arrive

at home! Heaven is his—and there is my mansion! Eternity

is his, and there is my treasure and glory forevermore!

James Meikle