St. Francis of Assisi’s Poetry | Canticum fratris solis vel Laudes creaturarum | The Canticle of the Sun | circa 1224
Most high and all powerful Lord. Yours be the praise, the glory, the honor and all good-tidings. To you alone are they reserved and no man is worthy of them.
Praised be my Lord for all your creatures especially Brother Sun, who illuminates us by day, for he is beautiful and radiant in great splendor and carries You, oh most High, as a sign.Praised be for Sister Moon and the stars you formed with them in the sky, so bright, precious, and beautifully.
Praised be for Brother Wind, for air, clouds, and all kind of weather, by which you give sustenance to all Your creatures.
Praised be for Sister Water who is most useful, humble and pure.
Praised be for Brother Fire by which You light up the night, for he is beautiful, cheerful, robust, and strong.
Praised be for Sister Mother Earth which both governs and sustains us, producing many fruits, colorful flowers and grasses.
Praised be those who pardon because of Your Love, forbearing weakness and tribulation. Blessed be they who bear such trials in peace, for by You, oh most High, they will be crowned.
Praised be, My Lord, for Our Sister Bodily Death which no living man can escape. Beware those who die in mortal sin, and blessed be those will be found in Your most Holy Will, for the second death will do them no harm.
All ye praise and bless the Lord thank and serve Him with great humility.
Amen, Brother Francis.
And sometimes I find myself wandering into coffee shops and sitting in the farthest corner so my back is secure and my eyes wide and wandering and taking in all the beautiful faces that stumble in with me into this great refuge—this great place of sanctuary that lends herself as the perfect place to plop down with a latte, plug in the headphones, and dissolve into the ambiance of hacienda orange and stale grinds, and then I find myself pushing through to a moment of clarity where suddenly the reality of my aching and utter helplessness in changing the way things are or how I wish’d them to be and the tears stroll and stroll and weave their way through the channels of my beard like the mighty Colorado carving her way through the Canyon to pave a way for the hopeless and the romantics and the scared and the fearless to try their hand at love and adventure, no matter what the risks may be or the perils and excitement that may lay ahead for their raft is shaky but patched and longing for a new home.
Graceless man may I accompany you?
Seems we could stabilize the other.
You with your crooked arms and no laces for shoes,
I without quarter from this souther.
We may dream impossibly but we might have each other.
A life built from stones and streams to great trees and winter’s toll.
A fire to build and silence to keep until we thin to old.
Then, dear man with graces you learned
In the crook of your arm
And wool knitted to warm,
Our life would be happy.
Stunning. As always.