Ballade of the Paid Puritan
In vain with whip and knotted cord
The hirelings of hypocrisy
Would make us comely for the Lord:
Think ye God works through such as ye—
Paid Puritan, plump Pharisee,
And lobbyist fingering his fat bill,
Reeking of rum and bribery:
God needs not you to work His will.
We know you whom you serve, abhorred
Traducers of true piety,
What tarnished gold is your reward
In Washington and Albany;
’Tis not from God you take your fee,
Another’s purpose to fulfil,
You that are God’s worst enemy:
God needs not you to work His will.
Not by the money-changing horde,
Base traders in the sanctuary,
Nor by fanatic fire and sword,
Shall man grow as God wills him be;
In his own heart a voice hath he
That whispers to him small and still;
God gives him eyes His good to see:
God needs not you to work His will.
ENVOI
Dear Prince, a sinner’s honesty
Is more to God, much nearer still,
Than the bribed hypocritic knee:
God needs not you to work His will.
