Would I might wake St. Francis in you
all,
Brother of birds and trees, God’s
Troubadour,
Blinded with weeping for the sad and poor;
Our wealth undone, all strict Franciscan
men,
Come, let us chant the canticle again
Of mother earth and the enduring sun.
God make each soul the lonely leper’s
slave;
God make us saints, and brave.