The hound of heaven Vol1 Francis Thompson Books
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This book was digitized and reprinted from the collections of the University of California Libraries. It was produced from digital images created through the libraries’ mass digitization efforts. The digital images were cleaned and prepared for printing through automated processes. Despite the cleaning process, occasional flaws may still be present that were part of the original work itself, or introduced during digitization. This book and hundreds of thousands of others can be found online in the HathiTrust Digital Library at www.hathitrust.org.
The hound of heaven Vol1 Francis Thompson Books
The Gutenberg edition is based upon a 'gift' edition from 1926, of which the illustrations must have been a major element, although only the captions (lines from the poem) are transmitted here.The poem itself is not very long, and starts at the 70 percent mark. but Father Daly's introduction is well-written, if a bit florid for 21st Century tastes. It gives a very interesting account of the poem's reception, and the author's life:
The reading-world dipped curiously into the pages about which there was so much conflict of opinion; it was startled and bewildered by a novel and difficult form of verse; and finally it agreed with the majority of critics that it was mostly nonsense—too Catholic to be catholic. [...]Even Thompson's coreligionists were cold. Indeed, it may be said they were the coldest. If the general reading-public of the nineties suspected Thompson of being a Victorian reactionary of ultra-montane mould, the Catholic public feared him for his art. It was a wild unfettered thing which took strange liberties with Catholic pieties and could not be trusted to run in divine grooves. One can afford to extenuate the attitude of reserve. It was a period when brilliant heterodoxies and flaunting decadence were in the air. The fact is, that critics and public delivered Thompson over to the Catholics; and the Catholics would have nothing to do with him.
After such a build-up ("The poem might have been written in the days of Shakespeare, or, in a different speech, by Dante or Calderon."), could I help being a little disappointed in the poem itself? Nonetheless, it was stirring:
My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap.
My days have crackled and gone up in smoke,
Have puffed and burst as sun-starts on a stream.
Yea, faileth now even dream
The dreamer, and the lute the lutanist;
Even the linked fantasies, in whose blossomy twist
I swung the earth a trinket at my wrist,
Are yielding; cords of all too weak account
For earth, with heavy griefs so overplussed.
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Tags : The hound of heaven (Vol-1) [Francis Thompson] on Amazon.com. *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. This book was digitized and reprinted from the collections of the University of California Libraries. It was produced from digital images created through the libraries’ mass digitization efforts. The digital images were cleaned and prepared for printing through automated processes. Despite the cleaning process,Francis Thompson,The hound of heaven (Vol-1),University of California Libraries,B007Z15SGI
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The hound of heaven Vol1 Francis Thompson Books Reviews
This poem is absolutely beautiful and speaks right into the soul of God's children. I can hardly read it without feeling as though the breath has been taken from me. The pursuit of God for the soul of His children is a powerful one and it is captured so beautifully by Francis Thompson. As he reaches the conclusion of the poem and states 'How little worthy of any love thou art! Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee, Save Me, save only Me? All which I took from thee I did but take, Not for thy harms, but just that though might'st seek it in My arms. All which they child's mistake fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home Rise, clasp My hand, and come." Halts by me that footfall Is my gloom, after all, Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly? "Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest, I am He Whom thou seekest! Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me." Oh! how true those words are! If only we, His children, could escape our blindness and see that His pursuit is not one designed to take something from us but to give us the greatest gift that could ever be given; redemption! Freedom and release from bondage that we have taken upon ourselves to feed the sinful drive in our hearts, given in the form of Jesus, our savior. This poem is powerful and one every single Christian should read and meditate upon.
I foolishly assumed I had a greater familiarity with Francis Thompson's The Hound of Heaven than I had. I now realize that I'd only heard parts of it recited and remembered them incorrectly (if the recitals were accurate -)) I was ill prepared for and very pleasantly surprised by this poetic masterpiece.
Thompson's portrayal of the fleeing soul that like Augustine cannot rest until it rests in Thee is exquisite. The introduction by James J. Daly, S.J., to the early edition that is reproduced in this free e-book includes a biographical portrait of Thompson that heightens the reader's appreciation of the poem, showing that it was not written by a dilettante but by a man anguished by the life he described.
The listing for this free e-book indicates it is by by Francis Thompson and Stella Langdale. This is a bit misleading. Stella Langdale illustrated the early edition but her illustrations are not reproduced in this e-book.
I bought the edition of Francis Thompson's "Hound of Heaven," because I wanted to cite a stanza from this masterpiece in a book I was writing. This edition not only contains the poem of Francis Thompson, but also informative and illuminating commentary by James J. Daily, S.J., on select verses of the poem as they relate to the life of Francis Thompson.
Although the poem is not an easy read, I found the commentaries very helpful in understanding the meaning of the "Hound of Heaven" and relating it to the life of Francis Thompson. Francis was born in a devout Roman Catholic family. He was sent to a boarding school to study for the priesthood, but soon it became clear to him that he had no interest in becoming a priest. His father, a medical doctor, wanted him to study medicine, but Francis had no aptitude for science. He wanted to be a poet, so he left home at the age of twenty-six and made his way to London. Living on the streets of that city, he soon became destitute and an addict to opium. He eventually died of tuberculosis, but shortly before his death, he wrote this poem in which he confessed that he was not running away from his home or himself, but he was actually running away from God. Yet God, said Francis, graciously pursued him, as it were, as the Hound of Heaven.
I highly recommend this edition to anyone who seeks to be enriched by Francis Thompson's portrayal of a loving, omnipotent, and omniscient God who seeks after us as the Hound of Heaven.
The Gutenberg edition is based upon a 'gift' edition from 1926, of which the illustrations must have been a major element, although only the captions (lines from the poem) are transmitted here.
The poem itself is not very long, and starts at the 70 percent mark. but Father Daly's introduction is well-written, if a bit florid for 21st Century tastes. It gives a very interesting account of the poem's reception, and the author's life
The reading-world dipped curiously into the pages about which there was so much conflict of opinion; it was startled and bewildered by a novel and difficult form of verse; and finally it agreed with the majority of critics that it was mostly nonsense—too Catholic to be catholic. [...]Even Thompson's coreligionists were cold. Indeed, it may be said they were the coldest. If the general reading-public of the nineties suspected Thompson of being a Victorian reactionary of ultra-montane mould, the Catholic public feared him for his art. It was a wild unfettered thing which took strange liberties with Catholic pieties and could not be trusted to run in divine grooves. One can afford to extenuate the attitude of reserve. It was a period when brilliant heterodoxies and flaunting decadence were in the air. The fact is, that critics and public delivered Thompson over to the Catholics; and the Catholics would have nothing to do with him.
After such a build-up ("The poem might have been written in the days of Shakespeare, or, in a different speech, by Dante or Calderon."), could I help being a little disappointed in the poem itself? Nonetheless, it was stirring
My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap.
My days have crackled and gone up in smoke,
Have puffed and burst as sun-starts on a stream.
Yea, faileth now even dream
The dreamer, and the lute the lutanist;
Even the linked fantasies, in whose blossomy twist
I swung the earth a trinket at my wrist,
Are yielding; cords of all too weak account
For earth, with heavy griefs so overplussed.
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