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Scart" to death at bee or bat,-- Fraidie-Cat! Fraidie-Cat! Claims there're ghosts all snowy white Wandering around at night In the attic; wouldn't go There for anything, I know; B'lieve he'd run if you said "Scat!" Fraidie-Cat! Fraidie-Cat! _Clinton Scollard._ JACK IN THE PULPIT Jack 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 look-out with all their Red trumpets in hand. Meek-faced anemones, Drooping and sad; Great yellow violets, Smiling out glad; Buttercups' faces, Beaming and bright; Clovers, with bonnets,-- Some red and some white; Daisies, their white fingers Half-clasped in prayer; Dandelions, proud of The gold of their hair; Innocents,--children Guileless and frail, Meek little faces Upturned and pale; Wild-wood geraniums, All in their best, Languidly leaning In purple gauze dressed:-- All are assembled This sweet Sabbath-day To hear what the priest In his pulpit will say. Look! white Indian pipes On the green mosses lie! Who has been smoking Profanely so nigh? Rebuked by the preacher The mischief is stopped, But the sinners, in haste, Have their little pipes dropped. Let the wind, with the fragrance Of fern and black birch, Blow the smell of the smoking Clean out of the church! So much for the preacher: The sermon comes next,-- Shall we tell how he preached it, And where was his text? Alas! like too many Grown-up folks who play At worship in churches Man-builded to-day,-- We heard not the preacher Expound or discuss; But we looked at the people, And they looked at us. We saw all their dresses, Their colors and shapes; The trim of thei
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