The masters grinding wages low,
While workers suffer thus they know
The ministers preaching, be content,
Reward is yours when life is spent.

Do qualms of conscience ever disturb
A master imposing terms absurd,
Why - off to church, there he goes,
The parson's sermon pleasing those.

Why make the church a robbers den?
A rendezvous for such like men.
Now - ye hypocrites take care,
Someday Christ's vengeance will not spare.

The pulpit's silence had a price,
Great mammon's offer - Oh how nice.
The minister a serf became,
His independence sold for gain.

To wage a fight for Jesus' sake,
No filthy lucre must ye take,
Onward never fearing human pride,
Let dauntless courage be your guide.