Dogmadealer, talking treason,
Spurning truth, perverting reason
In and out of folly's season
Year by year
Oh, a plague on all the twaddle
In your hum drum niddlenoodle,
Mammon's lawpaid mollycoddle
Limp with fear.
Is there 'sin' in worldy leaven?
Yet there's not one day in seven
When you fail to sell your gammon
All for pelf;
'Heaven to let'to paying lodger;
Ah, you canting devildodger,
Damn not us who spurn your Mammon,
Damn yourself!
If I've done some bad behaving,
And I don't deserve the saving,
Then 'tis honour bids the braving
Of my dues;
Pilot souls to your sky places
Who are full of Sunday graces,
And with sweat from poor men's faces
Pay for pews.
Call the purseproud from their blisses,
Call the fashionable misses
From 'advisers'' holy kisses,
Call, and call;
Call the people's sly mindshapers,
Call the kings of daily papers
Cutting 'law and order' capers
One and all.
Here's my Lord Archbishop, mind you,
Paid to gorge himself, and blind you,
Till your very self can't find you
Anywhere;
Simple Jesus! See the old 'un!
Why, his dinnerplates are golden!
May the sight our hearts embolden
In our prayer.
Ah, dismiss them, with a 'blessing;'
All intoning and confessing;
Never more our souls distressing
With their cant!
Help to silence priestly mumble,
Help the Mammontemples tumble,
Freedom's banner o'er the jumble
Firm to plant.
Come, dear toilers, stained and weary,
Come and help the world grow cheery,
Come from out your prison dreary
Built by greed;
You who labour heavyladen,
Slaving mother, trampled maiden,
Ever preached to, every preyed on,
In your need;
Let your winters grow no colder,
Rise at last and dare be bolder,
Setting shoulder firm to shoulder
For a thrust!
Yokes be eased, and burdens lighter,
As the great Hope warms the fighter,
And the broad New Day grows brighter
And more just.