Hence Mammon draws tithe, and here Moloch takes toll;
Here conscienceless wealth, of the spiderish soul,
Sucks fatness from foulness in fœtid beast-lairs;
Whilst somnolent Bumble, as deaf to all pray’rs
As a drowsing King Log, all his powers lets fall,
And skulks in prone impotence. What though they crawl
From their dens to his knees, the poor souls, in appeal?
His brains are of wool, and his heart is of steel.
Home, Home, Sweet, Sweet Home!
As ruled by King Bumble, a sweet place is Home!