ASSISI

THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS

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 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,
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
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 for 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 St. 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.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

AT ASSISI

BEFORE St. Francis' burg I wait,
Frozen in spirit, faint with dread;
His presence stands within the gate,
Mild splendour rings his head,

Gently he seems to welcome me: Knows he not I am quick, and he Is dead, and priest of the dead?

I turn away from the grey church pile;
I dare not enter, thus undone:
Here in the roadside grass awhile

I will lie and watch for the sun.

Too purged of earth's good glee and strife, Too drained of the honied lusts of life, Was the peace these old saints won!

And lo! how the laughing earth says no
To the fear that mastered me;

To the blood that aches and clamours so
How it whispers "Verily."

Here by my side, marvellous-dyed,

Bold stray-away from the courts of pride, A poppy-bell flaunts free.

St. Francis sleeps upon his hill,

And a poppy flower laughs down his creed; Triumphant light her petals spill,

His shrines are dim indeed.

Men build and plan, but the soul of man,
Coming with haughty eyes to scan,

Feels richer, wilder need.

How long, old builder Time, wilt bide
Till at thy thrilling word

Life's crimson pride shall have to bride
The spirit's white accord,

Within that gate of good estate

Which thou must build us soon or late,

Hoar workman of the Lord?

WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY.

FROM ASSISI

THE UMBRIAN PLAIN

THOU art a holy poem, sweet Umbrian plain,
Forever chanted to the angels' ear:

Thy tender vines beneath the hills austere,
Thy shining poppies and thy springing grain,
All murmur softly one melodious strain,

While Brother Wind breathes low that he hear,

And floating o'er thy far horizons clear, Our Sister Clouds hearken the glad refrain.

A poem of love remembered: day by day,

Here, with some chosen brother of his band, God's Little Poor One wandered, lorn and gay, Weeping, yet singing on his homeless way

may

Lauds of the creatures: and the lovely land Still holds his voice for those who understand. HELEN J. SANBORN.

TERNI

THE FALLS OF TERNI

THE roar of waters!-from the headlong

height

Velino cleaves the wave-worn precipice:

The fall of waters! rapid as the light

The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss: The hell of waters! where they howl and hiss, And boil in endless torture; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this Their Phlegethon, curls round the rocks of jet That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set.

And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again

Returns in an unceasing shower, which round,
With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain,
Is an eternal April to the ground,

Making it all one emerald. How profound
The gulf! and how the giant element

From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound,
Crushing the cliffs, which downward, worn and

rent

With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful

vent