A Service Of Song. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

 Some keep the Sabbath going to church;
    I keep it staying at home,
    With a bobolink for a chorister,
    And an orchard for a dome.

    Some keep the Sabbath in surplice;
    I just wear my wings,
    And instead of tolling the bell for church,
    Our little sexton sings.

    God preaches, — a noted clergyman, —
    And the sermon is never long;
    So instead of getting to heaven at last,
    I’m going all along!