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