My Hound From Heaven
My Hound From Heaven It’s been years since Francis Thompson’s epic poem, “The Hound of Heaven” crossed my path. It is a Victorian poem. Whereas it’s language is outdated to our modern ear, it is still as endearing as the day it was penned as it centers on the pursuit of a sinner by a loving God. It’s a poem about Grace. Raw Grace. Unbridled and unfettered Grace. Grace that reache s beyond the surface facades into the grit of life. It is this Grace for which I am most thankful as for without it I would not be standing today. Not until a few months ago, when unable to sleep, did the poem show itself again – and in such an odd fashion. God is like that you know – popping up at the most inopportune times when we are so busy trying to handle life on our own. It was about two in the morning and I could not sleep. It’s almost as if I had been summoned to my easy chair to find the answer. I crept out of the bedroom, tippy-toed over the dog’s gate trying not to wake them.