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Poem	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.
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