He watches, advances, retreats like zig-zag lightning; Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning.
In dive and cell, underground and in the air, the Devil, prowling,
runs about.
Now he is flower, dragon-fly, woman, black-cat, green snake; Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning.
And now, with pointed moustache, scented with vetiver, the Devil,
prowling, runs about.
Wherever mankind swarms, without rest, summer and winter, Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning.
From alcove to hall, and on the railways, the Devil, prowling, runs
about.
He is Mr. Seen-at-Night, who saunters with staring eyes. Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning.
There floating as a bubble, here squirming as a worm, the Devil,
prowling, runs about.
He's grand seigneur, tough, student, teacher. Hell's a-burning,
burning, burning.
He inoculates each soul with his bitter whispering: the Devil,
prowling, runs about.
He promises, bargains, stipulates in gentle or proud tones. Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning.
Mocking pitilessly the unfortunate whom he destroys, the Devil,
prowling, runs about.
He makes goodness ridiculous and the old man futile. Hell's
a-burning, burning, burning.
At the home of the priest or sceptic, whose soul or body he wishes,
the Devil, prowling, runs about.
Beware of him to whom he toadies, and whom he calls "my dear sir.
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