THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS

St. Francis looked upon the everyday world round about him and found it full of beauty. The birds of the air, the beasts of the fields, even the wind, the rain and the sun, were his little brothers. Truly he was the "little brother of the poor." He "anticipated all that is most liberal in the modern mood: the love of nature, the love of animals."

St. Francis may well be called the Father of the Renaissance, for in the thirteenth century the people of the little Umbrian towns and villages where he visited listened to him as to no one else. His idealism inspired the great artists of Umbria, who left on the frescoed walls of Italy's great churches the story of his life. Matthew Arnold does not hesitate to give the "poor little man of God" a place among the great geniuses of all time.

St. Francis' part in life was to bring religion to the people. His soul yearned for the poverty and suffering which were the common fate of the majority of mankind. "He listens," it was said of him, "to those to whom God himself will not listen."

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.

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The Sermon of St. Francis

"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.

PART V

GENOA