  Drawing of the Jack-in-the-Pulpit plant Jack in the Pulpit Preaches to-day, Squirrel and song-sparrow, High on their perch, Hear the sweet lily-bells Ringing to church. Come, hear what his reverence Rises to say, In his low, painted pulpit, This calm Sabbath-day. Fair is the canopy Over him seen, Pencilled by Nature’s hand Black, brown, and green. Green is his surplice, Green are his bands; In his queer little pulpit The little priest stands. In black and gold velvet, So gorgeous to see, Comes with his bass voice The chorister bee. Green fingers playing Unseen on wind-lyres,— Low singing bird-voices,— These are his choirs. The violets are deacons; I know by their sign That the cups which they carry Are purple with wine. And the columbines bravely As sentinels stand On the look-out, with all their Red trumpets in hand. Meek-faced anemones Drooping and sad; Great yellow violets Smiling out glad; Buttercups’ faces Beaming and bright; Clovers, with bonnets— Some red and some white; Daisies, their white fingers Half-clasped in prayer; Dandelions proud of The gold of their hair; Innocents, children Guileless and frail, Meek little faces Upturned and pale; Wild-wood geraniums, All in their best, Languidly leaning In purple gauze dressed;— All are assembled This sweet Sabbath day To hear what the priest in his pulpit will say. Look! white Indian pipes On the green mosses lie! Who has been smoking Profanely so nigh? Rebuked by the preacher The mischief is stopped, And the sinners, in haste, Have their little pipes dropped. Let the wind, with the fragrance Of fern and black-birch, Blow the smell of the smoking Clean out of the church! So much for the preacher: The sermon comes next;— Shall we tell how he preached it, And what was his text? Alas! like too many Grown-up folk who play At worship in churches Man-builded to-day— We heard not the preacher Expound or discuss; But we looked at the people And they looked at us; We saw all their dresses, Their colors and shapes, The trim of their bonnets, The cut of their capes; We heard the wind-organ, The bee and the bird, But of Jack in the Pulpit we heard not a word! |
|
