Ever heard of Francis Thompson? Young guy, drop out, drug addict, drifter, sometime homeless. Eventually diseased and dead at 48.
Probably not the kind of guy you would want to hang out with nor call a friend. And certainly not the kind of guy you would be inclined to be loyal to.
But right before his death in 1907, Thompson came to know to very the core of his soul what true loyalty was. He expressed it in his poem, “Hound of Heaven.”
“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 chasmèd fears,
From those strong Feet…
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