e element of air, which He has made your portion. Over and
above, you sow not, neither do you reap; but God feeds you, and gives
you streams and springs for your thirst; the mountains He gives you, and
the valleys for your refuge, and the tall trees wherein to build your
nests. And because you cannot sew or spin, God takes thought to clothe
you, you and your little ones. It must be, then, that your Creator loves
you much, since He has granted you so many benefits. Be on your guard
then against the sin of ingratitude, and strive always to give God
praise."

And when the Saint ceased speaking, the birds made such signs as they
might, by spreading their wings and opening their beaks, to show their
love and pleasure; and when he had blessed them with the sign of the
cross, they sprang up, and singing songs of unspeakable sweetness, away
they streamed in a great cross to the four quarters of heaven.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 8: By William Canton, an English journalist and poet (1845- ).]

THE SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS[9]

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.

"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.

"Oh, 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.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 9: By Henry W. Longfe