I saw him turn a somersault right on the pulpit stairs;
And once, in his old meeting-house, he flew into the steeple,
And rang a merry chime of bells, to call the feathered people.
He has a tiny helpmeet, too, who wears a gown and cap,
And is so very wide-awake, she seldom takes a nap.
She preaches, also, sermonettes, with headlets one, two, three,
In singing monosyllables beginning each with D.
But O her little minister, she does almost adore:
I’ve heard her call her sweet D.D. full twenty times or more.
And his pet polysyllable—why, did you hear it never?