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.”