Some Keep Sunday

by Emily Dickinson

Some keep Sunday going to church

I keep it staying at home,

With a bobolink for a chorister,

And an orchard for a throne.

Some keep 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 going to heaven at last

I'm going all along.