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This is a question which, in every age, the doubting heart has propounded to itself; and every time it recurs it bespeaks a deeper agony of soul, and demands a profounder answer. The contradictions of our life can neither be ignored nor annihilated. But all depends on how we view the whole — whether in the gloom of despondency, or the shining light of hope. If God is with us anywhere and ever, then everywhere and always. Not only in the height of our exultation, but in the depth of grief and woe. Not only in the glad communion of our sweetest fellowship, but in the chilly isolation of our sheer bereavement. In all the evils of existence — in shame and crime and want — we must believe he is no further from us than in plenty and peace and virtuous delight. There are periods of depression incidental to all flesh, when all around is gloomy, and the outlook drear and blank; when the joys of life appear so few, so fleeting, and so faded: when sin and suffering seem so vast and sure, our lot so hard and burdensome, our whole existence so beset with toil, that the pulse of the spirit beats feeble, faint and low, and the dead weight of sombre misgiving clips the pinions which we spread, and drags us downward to despondency. At such times we learn the value of example. We call to mind the stories we have heard of peaceful death-beds and triumphant departures. We think of Socrates, with the cup of hemlock in his hand, discoursing sweetly — like the dying swan, his noblest strain his last — concerning the immortality of the soul. We think of Christian martyrs and the saints of old. We see them dying for divergent creeds, yet all alike serene. They walked by faith, not by sight; and therefore they were strong. And anon, as we review that noble host, there rises one above the rest, who is the chief among ten thousand, and the leader of an army by Himself. Who was a man of sorrows, who was acquainted with grief, like this our elder brother, the despised and rejected of men? Are our discouragements to be compared to His? If in the midst of a priest-ridden world, a corrupt and worn-out society, even out of the unpromising materials which were all that lay ready to His hand, He never relinquished His sublime idea of building up the kingdom of God, shall we not also rise above our griefs, and lift the drooping head — we in whose cup is mingled that more even measure that God metes out to ordinary men? There is nothing so bad but it may be well, if we wait to see the end. But oh, the good which we discern already! what shall explain that away? The mere refusal of our hearts to acquiesce in despondency — whence comes it, if not from a God in whose embrace we lie secure? The desire which springs spontaneous, like the fountain in the desert, to help and befriend the distressed; the anodyne of sympathy, and the balm of compassion, which gushes in most abundance where sorest need prevails; the love which many waters cannot quench; the devotion of a mother; the attachment of a child; all that makes suffering tender, and sheds beauty upon grief — are these no signs of God? Signs! They are more. They are the beating of a universal pulse, the breathing of a universal soul; they constitute the Godhead of the World. And when we have once discovered the great Father in our hearts, we may go forth courageously to find Him everywhere.

(E. M. Geldart, M. A.)

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KJV: My tears have been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is thy God?

WEB: My tears have been my food day and night, while they continually ask me, "Where is your God?"