In the Hindu myths of their gods there is a story of Sibi Chakravarthi, an emperor of ancient India. One day there flew to him for refuge a dove chased by a hawk. He gave it shelter, and the hawk, approaching the Emperor, demanded that the claims of justice should be satisfied, for the Creator had ordained that the dove should be the food of the hawk and other birds of prey which He had created. Sibi asked how the claims of justice could be met, and was told that justice demanded either that the dove should be handed over to it, or its weight in flesh from the body of the Emperor. Scales were brought at the command of Sibi, and the flesh cut off and put in one pan of the scales, with the dove in the other pan, until the scales balanced.
(Ps. 46. 1, 7, 11; Deut. 33. 27; Mark 10. 45)
'Other refuge have I none. Charles Wesley, shortly after his conversion in 1738, sat one summer day in his study. A little bird, pursued by a hawk, flew in through the open window and sought refuge in his bosom, where the baffled hawk dare not follow. This incident led to the writing of the familiar hymn, `Jesus, Lover of my soul'.
(Num. 35. 15; Ps. 59. 16; Jer. 16. 19)
O lovely Man! none can with Thee compare,
My Hiding-place from every wind that blows;
In Thee my heart is freed from anxious care,
I know Thy love to me unceasing flows.
My covert from the wild and stormy blast,
Whose fury would my trusting soul alarm;
In Thee I shelter till the storm is past,
Safe in Thy keeping nought can do me harm.
From Thee the living streams of life abound,
Whose healing waters make the spirit whole;
Who drinks of Thee eternal life hath found,
And ne'er again shall thirst the longing soul.
Thou Rock of ages, in Thee is my rest,
Beneath Thy shadow in a weary land;
A pilgrim, on my way supremely blest,
To Thee above, Whose love the way has planned.—W. E. Earl
(Isa. 32. 2)