He bought in Seventeen Sixty-Five a farm of stumps and stones,

His name was God-be-glorified—his surname it was Jones.

He put a mortgage on the farm, and then in conscious pride,

In twenty years I'll pay it up, said God-be-glorified.

The mortgage had a hungry maw that swallowed corn and wheat,

He toiled in patience night and day to let the monster eat.

He slowly worked himself to death, and on the calm hill-side,

They laid beyond the monster's reach old God-be-glorified.

And the farm with its incumbrance of mortgage, stumps and stones,

It fell to young Melchizedek Paul Adoniram Jones,

Melchizedek was a likely youth—a holy, godly man,

And he vowed he'd raise the mortgage like a noble puritan.

And he went forth each morning to the rugged mountain said,

And he dug as dug before him poor old God-be-glorified.

He raised pumpkins and potatoes down the monster's throat to pour,

He gulped them down and smacked his jaws and calmly asked for more.

He worked until his back was bent, and his hair was turned to gray,

On the hillside through a snowdrift they dug his grave one day.

His first-born son, Eliphalet, had no time to weep and brood,

For the monster on the door-step growled perpetu'ly for blood.

He fed him on his garden truck, he stuffed his ribs with hay—

And he fed him eggs and butter, but he would not go away;

And Eliphalet staggered with the burden till he died,

And slept with gold old Melchizedek and God-be-glorified.

And then the farm it fell to Thomas, and from Thomas fell to John,

Then from John to Eleazur, but the mortgage still lived on.

Then it fell to Ralph and Peter, Eli, Absalom and Paul,

Down through the generations, but the mortgage killed them all.