ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 



JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 



JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT 

 Preaches to-day, 

 Under the green trees 

 Just over the way. 

 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, 

 Penciled, 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 the sign 

 That the cups which they carry 



Are purple with wine. 

 And the columbines bravely 



As sentinels stand 

 On the lookout, with all their 



Red trumpets in hand. 



Meek-faced anemones, 



Drooping and sad ; 

 Great yellow violets, 



Smiling out glad ; 



