affected by the lines

Quaerens me sedisti lassus
Redemisti crucem passus
Tantus labor non sit passus.

Francis Thompson's long walks by day and by night had magnificent
company. In the country, in the streets of London, he was attended by
seraphim and cherubim. The heavenly visions were more real to him than
London Bridge. Just as when we travel far from those we love, we are
brightly aware of their presence, and know that their affection is a
greater reality than the scenery from the train window, so Thompson
would have it that the angels were all about us. They do not live in
some distant Paradise, the only gate to which is death--they are here
now, and their element is the familiar atmosphere of earth.

Shortly after he died, there was found among

His papers a bit of manuscript verse, called "In No Strange Land." Whether
it was a first draft which he meant to revise, or whether he intended
it for publication, we cannot tell; but despite the roughnesses of
rhythm--which take us back to some of Donne's shaggy and splendid
verse--the thought is complete. It is one of the great poems of the
twentieth century, and expresses the essence of Thompson's religion.

"IN NO STRANGE LAND"

O world invisible, we view thee:
O world intangible, we touch thee:
O world unknowable, we know thee: