Alice Guerin Crist
“I thank my god for brother wind,”
So prayed St. Francis long ago
In words of simple, joyous praise,
That fill my heart with sudden glow
As-braced by winter’s icy draught-
With singing soul, and strengthened mind,
I humbly join the good Saint’s prayer
Thank my God for “Brother Wind.”
For Brother Wind, who, whispering soft
Brings subtlest perfume on his wings,
The violet scent of childhood days,
The lost delight in simple things;
For Brother wind, who whistling keen
O’er open plain and storm-scarred hill,
Cleanses from mind, and heart, and brain,
All thoughts of wrong, and ancient ill.
Who wafts from scarce-stirred lily beds
Incense of early purity,
Or wakes to life our laggard souls
With stinging fragrance of the sea.
Echoes of Heaven, far-off and faint
For weary heart and tired mind,
Sweet long-lost memories, old and quaint-
These are the gifts of Brother Wind.
Ah! Dear St. Francis, let me kneel
Before thy shrine with joyous mind
Joining my humble, grateful prayer,
Thanking our God for Brother Wind.
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