FLOWERS BY THE POETS. 
35 
JACK IN THE PULPIT. 
Under the green trees just over the way, 
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 queer little pulpit this fine Sabbath day. 
Fair is the canopy over him seen, 
Painted by Nature’s hand black, brown and green. 
Green is his pulpit, and 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. 
Bird voices singing, these are his choirs. 
The violets are deacons, I know by this sign, 
The cups that they carry are purple with wine. 
The Columbines bravely as sentinels stand 
On the lookout with all their red trumpets in hand. 
Meek-faced Anemone drooping and sad, 
Great yellow Violets smiling out glad. 
Buttercups’ faces beaming and bright, 
Clovers with bonnets, some red, and some white ; 
Daisies, their fingers half clasped in prayer, 
Dandelions, proud of the gold of their 1 hair. 
