By Emily 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.