50 
ARBOR DA V MANUAL. 
JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 
J ACK-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; 
