Could 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.|