St. Francis and the Birds

St. Francis preached a sermon once, Not to dominie nor dunce, Prince nor pauper,—to the birds He addressed his loving words.

Flocking in from far and near One and all kept still to hear, Robin, vireo, and wren Sitting mute like decent men;

Tanager in scarlet coat, Golden-wing and ruby-throat, Bobolink and chickadee, Like children good as good could be.

From the catbird not a squawk, Not a whistle from the hawk, From the raven not a croak; Not a parrot cracked a joke.

Even the outrageous jay Sat without a word to say, And the oriole and thrush Forced their golden throats to hush.

Grosbeak, meadow-lark, and quail Let their sliding woodnotes fail, While the lonely whippoorwill Ceased his grieving from the hill.

And the whitethroat from the wild With his music undefiled, Even he put singing by For the greater mystery,—

Some new phrase of being's lore He had never heard before, Which might turn his plaintive fall Into triumph after all.

There they waited all intent For the word the Lord had sent, Hearing good St. Francis tell How life's song of joy befell;

How they each must bear a part In the chorus of the heart, Keeping harmony alive, Helping rapture to survive;

For if any voice were dumb Their Lord's Kingdom could not come, And the world must pass away In a wreck at Judgment Day.

As he finished every tree Sounded like the Litany When the people make response. For the bird folk all at once,

With new reason to be glad Such as they had never had, Lifted up with one accord Heart and voice to praise the Lord.