APPENDIX D

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ST. FRANCIS THE POET

NO one can read St. Francis’s one poem, the Canticle of the Sun, without feeling that had poetry claimed and won him in time, his might have been one of the greatest and sweetest of Italian voices. The story of its composition has a touching beauty. Towards the end of his life, when in the deepest dejection over the failure of his Order to live the life of joyful humility, unworldliness, and poverty to which he had pledged it, he came, blind and ill, to S. Clare’s Convent at St. Damien, on his way to Rieti, where his malady was to be treated. In this darkest hour of his life the untroubled faith and loving sympathy of his old friend brought consolation and peace to his torn spirit. She made him, it is said, a cell of reeds in the convent garden, where he could be free to come and go as he wished. “Little by little,” writes Paul Sabatier in his Vie de S. FranÇois, “the man of ancient days revived in him, and at times the Sisters heard the echo of strange chants, which mingled with the murmuring of the pines and olives, and which seemed to come from the cell of reeds.” One day, after a long conversation with Clare, he had sat down at the monastery table for refection. Scarcely had he begun to eat when he fell into a kind of trance. “Praise be to God!” he cried, on coming to himself. He had completed the Canticle of the Sun.

It is said that for a week afterwards he forgot his breviary, and passed his days in repeating to himself the strophes of his wonderful poem—a work in which, for all its religious ardour, the note of asceticism is little apparent; unless one sees it in his usual quaint adoption of the things of creation into a religious community! I append a literal translation, omitting two later verses composed for special occasions and not belonging to the first pure inspiration. It is written in unrhymed irregular stanzas:—

CANTICLE OF THE SUN

Most high, all-powerful, good Lord,
thine are praises, glory, honour and all benediction.
To Thee alone, Most high, they are due,
and no man is worthy to name Thee.
Have praise, Lord, with all Thy creatures,
especially Brother my Lord the Sun.
He gives the day, and by him Thou showest light,
and he is beautiful and radiant, with great splendour.
Of Thee, Most High, he is the symbol.
Have praise, Lord, for Sister Moon and for the Stars;
in the sky Thou hast formed them, bright, precious and beautiful.
Have praise, Lord, for Brother Wind,
and for the Air and the Clouds, and for the clear sky, and for every kind of weather,
by which Thou givest sustenance to all Thy creatures.
Have praise, Lord, for Sister Water
who is so serviceable and humble and precious and chaste.
Have praise, Lord, for Brother Fire,
by whom Thou dost illuminate the night.
He is handsome and gay, bold and strong.
Have praise, Lord, for Sister our Mother, the Earth,
who nourishes and takes care of us,
and brings forth divers fruits with coloured flowers, and the grass.
Praise ye and bless the Lord and render thanks to Him,
and serve Him with great humility!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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