Medford Historical Society Papers, Volume 15.

[p. 57]
     With the same, sombre hue
Painted, I see
     The little pulpit
In which standeth he.
     The surplice he wears
Is all palely green;
     Priest was never before
In such a dress seen.

In court-robes of velvet
     Black and gold, see,
Cometh with deep, bass voice,
     Lord Bumble-bee;
And unseen spirits that
     Play the wind-lyres,
Bird voices, soft and sweet—
     These form his choirs;

And the brave Columbines
     As sentinels stand
On the lookout, with their
     Red trumpets in hand.

Meek, frail Anemones,
     Drooping and sad,
In robes all fragile
     And delicate—clad;
Buttercups—their faces
     Beaming with sunlight;
Clovers, with bonnets,
     Some red and some white;
Daisies,—their white fingers
     Half clasped, as in prayer;
Dandelions—with their
     Bright, golden hair;
Innocents—like children
     Guileless and frail,
Their little faces
     Upturned and pale;
Wild-wood Geraniums,
     All in their best
Robes of soft, lovely,
     Purple gauze, dressed;

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;

Innocents, children
     Guileless and frail,
Meek little faces
     Upturned and pale;
Wild-wood geraniums,
     All in their best,
Languidly leaning
     In purple gauze dressed:—