BROTHER JUNIPER
By Blanche Mary Kelly
As unto Francis Poverty,So Folly was a bride to thee.Not the jade that fashions quipsFor the smiles of mocking lips,And in the face of stony DeathCapers till she’s out of breath,But the maid that moves and singsAbout divinely foolish things,She that gives her substance allFor love, and laughs to find it small,She that drew God’s Son to beA butt, a jest on Calvary,And ’neath the leper’s guise doth knowThe King in his incognito.The world is grown too wise, and weGo our sad ways sensibly.O, would that our lean souls might winSome grace of thine, God’s harlequin,Whose days were lavished like fool’s goldUpon His pleasures manifold.“Would God,” cried Francis, on his knees,“I had a forest of such trees!”
As unto Francis Poverty,So Folly was a bride to thee.Not the jade that fashions quipsFor the smiles of mocking lips,And in the face of stony DeathCapers till she’s out of breath,But the maid that moves and singsAbout divinely foolish things,She that gives her substance allFor love, and laughs to find it small,She that drew God’s Son to beA butt, a jest on Calvary,And ’neath the leper’s guise doth knowThe King in his incognito.The world is grown too wise, and weGo our sad ways sensibly.O, would that our lean souls might winSome grace of thine, God’s harlequin,Whose days were lavished like fool’s goldUpon His pleasures manifold.“Would God,” cried Francis, on his knees,“I had a forest of such trees!”
As unto Francis Poverty,So Folly was a bride to thee.Not the jade that fashions quipsFor the smiles of mocking lips,And in the face of stony DeathCapers till she’s out of breath,But the maid that moves and singsAbout divinely foolish things,She that gives her substance allFor love, and laughs to find it small,She that drew God’s Son to beA butt, a jest on Calvary,And ’neath the leper’s guise doth knowThe King in his incognito.
As unto Francis Poverty,
So Folly was a bride to thee.
Not the jade that fashions quips
For the smiles of mocking lips,
And in the face of stony Death
Capers till she’s out of breath,
But the maid that moves and sings
About divinely foolish things,
She that gives her substance all
For love, and laughs to find it small,
She that drew God’s Son to be
A butt, a jest on Calvary,
And ’neath the leper’s guise doth know
The King in his incognito.
The world is grown too wise, and weGo our sad ways sensibly.O, would that our lean souls might winSome grace of thine, God’s harlequin,Whose days were lavished like fool’s goldUpon His pleasures manifold.“Would God,” cried Francis, on his knees,“I had a forest of such trees!”
The world is grown too wise, and we
Go our sad ways sensibly.
O, would that our lean souls might win
Some grace of thine, God’s harlequin,
Whose days were lavished like fool’s gold
Upon His pleasures manifold.
“Would God,” cried Francis, on his knees,
“I had a forest of such trees!”