perfunctory net

To that far valley where your river flows

In Peace, that once I found in every rose."

Would I might wake St. Francis in you all,

Brother of birds and trees, God's Troubadour,

Blinded with weeping for the sad and poor;

Our wealth undone, all strict Franciscan men,

Come, let us chant the canticle again

Of mother earth and the enduring sun.