Danny' First Ski Adventure.avi

Saint Francis of Assisi

Hymn to Brother Sun
Life poems

Most high, omnipotent good Lord!
All yours is praise, glory, honour
And all blessing
To you, alone, Most High, do they belong.
No human lips are worthy
To pronounce Your name.
Be praised, my Lord
Through all your creatures
Especially through my lord Brother Sun
Who brings the day
And the light that warms us
He that is beautiful and radiant
In all his splendour!
Of you, Most High, he bears the likeness.

Be praised, my Lord
Through Sister Moon and the Stars;
In the heavens you have made them
Precious and beautiful.
Be praised, my Lord
Through Brothers Wind
And air, and clouds and storms,
And all the weather,
Through which you give your creatures sustenance.
Be praised, my Lord
Through Sister Water;
So very useful, and humble
And precious, and pure.
Be praised, my Lord
Through Brother Fire,
Through whom you brighten the night.
He who is beautiful and cheerful
And powerful and strong.

Be praised, my Lord
Through our sister Mother Earth
Who feeds and rules us,
And produces various fruits
And coloured flowers and plants
Be praised, my Lord
Through those who forgive for love of you;
And endure sickness and trial.
Happy those who endure in peace
For by you, Most High, they will be crowned.
Be praised, my Lord
Through our Sister Bodily Death,
From whose embrace no living person can escape.
Woe to those who die in mortal sin!
Happy those she finds
Doing your most holy will.
The second death can do no harm to them!
Praise and bless my Lord
And give thanks
And serve him with great humility.
St. Francis of Assisi, 1181-1226, Hymn to Brother Sun

by H. D.
H. D.
I have had enough.
I gasp for breath.

Every way ends, every road,
every foot-path leads at last
to the hill-crest—
then you retrace your steps,
or find the same slope on the other side,
precipitate.

I have had enough—
border-pinks, clove-pinks, wax-lilies,
herbs, sweet-cress.

O for some sharp swish of a branch—
there is no scent of resin
in this place,
no taste of bark, of coarse weeds,
aromatic, astringent—
only border on border of scented pinks.

Have you seen fruit under cover
that wanted light—
pears wadded in cloth,
protected from the frost,
melons, almost ripe,
smothered in straw?

Why not let the pears cling
to the empty branch?
All your coaxing will only make
a bitter fruit—
let them cling, ripen of themselves,
test their own worth,
nipped, shrivelled by the frost,
to fall at last but fair
with a russet coat.

Or the melon—
let it bleach yellow
in the winter light,
even tart to the taste—
it is better to taste of frost—
the exquisite frost—
than of wadding and of dead grass.

For this beauty,
beauty without strength,
chokes out life.
I want wind to break,
scatter these pink-stalks,
snap off their spiced heads,
fling them about with dead leaves—
spread the paths with twigs,
limbs broken off,
trail great pine branches,
hurled from some far wood
right across the melon-patch,
break pear and quince—
leave half-trees, torn, twisted
but showing the fight was valiant.

O to blot out this garden
to forget, to find a new beauty
in some terrible
wind-tortured place.

Category:

Entertainment

Tags:

• Danny'
• First
• Ski
• Adventure