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Emily Dickinson · Poems

Poem 50 of 446 · First Series: Nature

A Service Of Song

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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!

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