“In the shadow of Thy wings will I make my refuge.”
— Psalm lvii.

OULD anything be more tenderly gracious than this figure of hiding under the shadow of God’s wings? It speaks of bosom-warmth, and bosom-shelter, and bosom-rest. “Let me to Thy bosom fly!”

And what strong wings they are! Under those wings I am secure even from the lions. My animal passions shall not hurt me when I am “hiding in God.” The fiercest onslaughts of the devil are powerless to break those mighty wings. The tenderest little chick, “one of these little ones,” nestling behind this soft and gentle shelter, shall be perfectly secure; “none of its bones shall be broken.”

I do not wonder that this sheltering psalmist begins to sing! “I will sing and give praise!” I have often listened to the sheltering chicks, hiding behind the mother’s wings, and I have heard that quaint, comfortable, contented sound for which our language has no name. It is a sound of incipient song, the musical murmur of satisfaction. “I will sing unto Thee ... for Thy mercy is great.”