Brother Juniper
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 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!”