Notice the psalmist doesn't wait for daylight, or for calm, before turning to God. He rises before dawn specifically to cry for help, meeting the anxiety at its earliest, rawest point rather than waiting until he's composed enough to pray well. And the comfort he names isn't a feeling. It's a promise, something outside his own shifting emotional state that preserves his life regardless of how he feels in that particular pre-dawn moment. Hope, here, is placed in something durable, God's word, precisely because the psalmist's own suffering and early-morning dread are not durable ground to stand on.