So, as a man in peril runs into a hiding-place or fortress, as the
chickens beneath the outspread wing of the mother bird nestle close in
the warm feathers and are safe and well, the soul that trusts takes its
flight straight to God, and in Him reposes and is secure.

Now, it seems to me that such a figure as that is worth tons of
theological lectures about the true nature of faith, and that it tells
us, by means of a picture that says a great deal more than many a
treatise, that faith is something very different from a cold-blooded act
of believing in the truth of certain propositions; that it is the flight
of the soul--knowing itself to be in peril, and naked, and unarmed--into
the strong Fortress.

What is it that keeps a man safe when he thus has around him the walls
of some citadel? Is it himself, is it the act by which he took refuge,
or is it the battlements behind which he crouches? So in faith--which is
more than a process of a man's understanding, and is not merely the
saying, 'Yes, I believe all that is in the Bible is true; at any rate,
it is not for me to contradict it,' but is the running of the man, when
he knows himself to be in danger, into the very arms of God--it is not
the running that makes him safe, but it is the arms to which he runs.

If we would only lay to heart that the very essence of religion lies in
this 'flight of the lonely soul to the only God,' we should understand
better than we do what He asks from us in order that He may defend us,
and how blessed and certain His defence is. So let us clear our minds
from the thought that anything is worth calling trust which is not thus
taking refuge in God Himself.