I rose up at the dawn of day—
`Get thee away! get thee away!
Pray’st thou for riches? Away! away!
This is the Throne of Mammon grey.’
Said I: This, sure, is very odd;
I took it to be the Throne of God.
For everything besides I have:
It is only for riches that I can crave.
I have mental joy, and mental health,
And mental friends, and mental wealth;
I’ve a wife I love, and that loves me;
I’ve all but riches bodily.
I am in God’s presence night and day,
And He never turns His face away;
The accuser of sins by my side doth stand,
And he holds my money-bag in his hand.
For my worldly things God makes him pay,
And he’d pay for more if to him I would pray;
And so you may do the worst you can do;
Be assur’d, Mr. Devil, I won’t pray to you.
Then if for riches I must not pray,
God knows, I little of prayers need say;
So, as a church is known by its steeple,
If I pray it must be for other people.
He says, if I do not worship him for a God,
I shall eat coarser food, and go worse shod;
So, as I don’t value such things as these,
You must do, Mr. Devil, just as God please.