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Men don't believe in a Devil now, as their fathers used to do.
They've forced the door of the broadest creed,
                        To let "His Majesty" through.
There isn't a print of his cloven hoof, or a fiery dart from his bow
To be found in earth or air today, for the "wise" have voted so.
But who is mixing the fatal draught that palsies heart and brain?
And who loads the coffins every year
                        With ten hundred thousand slain?
Who blights the bloom of our youth today
                        With the fiery breath of hell?
If the Devil isn't and never was, won't some of these people tell?
Who dogs the steps of the toiling saint and digs a pit for his feet?
Who plants the weeds in the field of time,
                        Wherever God sows His wheat?
The Devil is voted not to be and "Of course," they say, "'tis true!"
But who is doing the kind of work the Devil alone can do?
Won't somebody step right up to the front,
                        And make his bow and show
How the frauds and crimes of a single day spring up?
                        We want to know!
The Devil was fairly voted out and of course "The Devil's gone!"
But simple people would like to know:
                        WHO CARRIES HIS BUSINESS ON?