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.