To Pier Giorgio Frassati Poem by Michael Walker

The question is to live, or to exist,
To accept, or reject patrimony;
Of Bread of Angels our food must consist,
If we're to taste true peace of purity.

May we remain Christians until the end,
Radiating kindness with our eyes,
Regarding everyone we meet a friend,
Created for the joy that never dies.

'Mountains, mountains, mountains, I love you! '
We cry to the heights to which we rise,
That we may be men of beatitude,
So we may meet again in Paradise.

Your gorgeous corpse reposes, incorrupt,
In the rest no one can interrupt.