Pamphlet Review: The Hound of Heaven

This was another small pamphlet I re-discovered on my bookshelves. What a gem! What a treasure! With no publication date listed, I searched for information online. Francis Thompson first published this poem, "The Hound of Heaven," in Merry England magazine in 1890. The first edition printed by Burns and Oates came out in 1909. Two new editions were printed in 1910 and 1928. I believe this was a 1910 edition (it says "New Edition" and is dedicated to someone with a date that looks like "Feb. '13"). 

I was struck by this dedication because I had a dear friend in London called David Mitchell. This is obviously not the same and my purchase notation indicates he did not give it to me. Amazing that I spent a total of 50 pence in Edinburgh for this treasure!

If you've never encountered this poem, seek it out now! In telling my husband about this, I learned that he is unfamiliar with this famous poem of God's relentless pursuit. Of course, since I was an English major it is understandable I would know of it, but he would not. I have often prayed that God would pursue my loved ones like the "hound of heaven" He is!

Here are a few famous lines:

"I fled Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him, down the arches of the years; I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears I hid from Him, and under running laughter. Up vistaed hopes, I sped; And shot, precipitated, Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears, From those strong Feet that followed, followed after... with unperturbed pace, Deliberate speed, majestic instancy, They beat... (though I knew His love Who followed, Yet was I sore adread Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside.)... A voice comes yet more fleet--'Lo! naught contents thee, who content'st not Me.'... That Voice is round me like a bursting sea:...'all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me! Strange, piteous, futile thing! Wherefore should any set thee love apart?... Of all man's clotted clay the dingiest clot? Alack, thou knowest not How little worthy of any love thou art! Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee, Save Me, save only Me?'"

And the final triumphant lines:

"'Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest, I am He Whom thou seekest! Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.'"

The poem is a masterpiece! Praise God for that relentlessly pursuing God who claims us as His own! Though dingy, piteous, and unworthy of His love, we find our rest in Him when we stop fleeing Him and embrace Him fully.

Onthewing.org offers a pdf of the entire poem with some biographical information here.