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: "Your wood does but perish, new seedlings to cherish, And the world is to live yet, for thee.
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