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.' Eversley, 1848.