The poem sets two very different pleasures side by side: the sound of bells ringing in a temple and the warm, heavy feeling of a belly full of ale. One is sacred, the other earthly, and the speaker doesn't treat them as opposites. Instead, the second stanza draws them together. "We are neighbors now," the speaker says, as if the body's appetite and the spirit's ritual have moved in next door to each other.
The phrase "public faith" is the key. Faith here is something communal and visible, like the bells that everyone in town can hear, and also like the ale shared in company. The speaker seems relaxed, a little amused, and quietly content. There's no guilt about drinking and no stiff piety about the temple. The mood is gentle and humane, with a touch of humor. Belonging, the poem suggests, can come from both the bell and the drink, and the speaker is comfortable with each.