hollow forms and bloodless ceremonies. Thompson's lips were touched
with a live coal from the altar.

Francis Thompson walked with God. Instead of seeking God, as so many
high-minded folk have done in vain, Thompson had the real and
overpowering sensation that God was seeking him. The Hound of Heaven
was everlastingly after him, pursuing him with the certainty of
capture. In trying to escape, he found torment; in surrender, the
peace that passes all understanding. That extraordinary poem, which
thrillingly describes the eager, searching love of God, like a father
looking for a lost child and determined to find him, might be taken as
a modern version of the one hundred and thirty-ninth psalm, perhaps
the most marvellous of all religious masterpieces.

Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with
all my ways.
Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me.
Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy
presence?
If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there; if I make my bed in hell,
behold, thou art there.
If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts
of the sea;
Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.

The highest spiritual poetry is not that which portrays soul-hunger,
the bitterness of the weary search for God; it is that which reveals
an intense consciousness of the all-enveloping Divine Presence.
Children do not seek the love of their parents; they can not escape
its searching, eager, protecting power. We know how Dr. Johnson was