The title is reminiscent of a George Beverly Shea hymn, declaring God's protection.
Each springtime I will find a baby robin in our backyard and there will be a frantic momma robin in a nearby tree. I've made clumsy rescue efforts only to fail and push the momma to apoplexy. In a day or so I will find the carcass of the baby, mangled by a feline fiend. It happens every year and it it probably a part of natural selection or the life cycle but I can't help think why God allows such a savage thing.
Makes G. B. Shea's words ring hollow.
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