Poemsby Emily Dickinson

V
VII

A Service of Song

 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!