| |
| UP soared the lark into the air, | |
| A shaft of song, a winged prayer, | |
| As if a soul, released from pain, | |
| Were flying back to heaven again. | |
| |
| St. Francis heard; it was to him | 5 |
| An emblem of the Seraphim; | |
| The upward motion of the fire, | |
| The light, the heat, the heart’s desire. | |
| |
| Around Assisi’s convent gate | |
| The birds, God’s poor who cannot wait, | 10 |
| From moor and mere and darksome wood | |
| Came flocking for their dole of food. | |
| |
| “O brother birds,” St. Francis said, | |
| “Ye come to me and ask for bread, | |
| But not with bread alone to-day | 15 |
| Shall ye be fed and sent away. | |
| |
| “Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds, | |
| With manna of celestial words; | |
| Not mine, though mine they seem to be, | |
| Not mine, though they be spoken through me. | 20 |
| |
| “O, doubly are ye bound to praise | |
| The great Creator in your lays; | |
| He giveth you your plumes of down, | |
| Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown. | |
| |
| “He giveth you your wings to fly | 25 |
| And breathe a purer air on high, | |
| And careth for you everywhere, | |
| Who for yourselves so little care!” | |
| |
| With flutter of swift wings and songs | |
| Together rose the feathered throngs, | 30 |
| And singing scattered far apart; | |
| Deep peace was in St. Francis’ heart. | |
| |
| He knew not if the brotherhood | |
| His homily had understood; | |
| He only knew that to one ear | 35 |
| The meaning of his words was clear. | |
| |
