Would I might wake Saint Francis in you all,
Brother of birds and trees,
God's Troubadour,
Blinded with weeping for the sad and the 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 lowly leper's slave:
God make us saints and brave.
T
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