The Sermon of St. Francis
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
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
An embelm 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,
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 today,
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.
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
And breathe a purer air on high,
And careth or you everywhere,
Who for yourselves so little care”
With flutter of swift wings and songs
Together rose the feathered throngs,
And singing scattered far apart,
Deep peace was in Francis’ heart.
He knew not if the brotherhood
His homily had understood,
He only knew that to one ear.
The meaning of his words was clear.
~Submitted by Denis
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