Classic Poem

Hail to thee, Francis, father of the poor;
Soul of humility and tenderness;
For thee the world was empty emptiness,
And poverty grew richness more and more

Thou wast self abnegation to the core;
Thou, being nothing, didst proclaim thee less;
Wherefore the blessed Saviour deigned to bless
Thee with his noble wounds in miniature.

Melodious Jacopone was thy son,
Who set thy vibrant sentences in rhyme.
Thou mad'st thee with God's whole creation one;

With stones and brambles not refusing kin;
The while thy holy vision pierced the thin
Appearances of all the fruits of time.