The church bells were ringing, the devil sat singing On the stump of a rotting old tree; 'Oh faith it grows cold, and the creeds they grow old, And the world is nigh ready for me.'
The bells went on ringing, a spirit came singing, And smiled as he crumbled the tree; 'Yon wood does but perish new seedlings to cherish, And the world is too live yet for thee.'
