With the leper’s kiss Saint Francis left the world;

it was the wall’s small gate to open field

where sun and breeze see blossoms meekly yield

and joy waves in the wind, a flag unfurled,

and in the air the bleat of Christ the Lamb.

Where death is spring, and all again begun

the inmost life is bright with morning’s Sun,

where sound the living words, I am, I am!

Not of the world yet one with all that is

(more so, than those who wish to leave it not

content with that which they themselves begot)

possessing all yet knowing naught is his.

    It is God’s goodness fills before and after

    the Poverello heard the sound of laughter.