Rebecca Henderson

This one is classic Emily Dickinson — and it’s so very appropriate that it showed up in my daily poetry reading on the Sunday I’m stuck at home with a stomach bug.

“Some keep the Sabbath going to church;

I keep it staying at home,

With 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!”