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by Charles Dickens
ããThe pure, the bright, the beautiful,
ããThat stirred our hearts in youth,
ããThe impulses to wordless prayer,
ããThe dreams of love and truth;
ããThe longing after something's lost,
ããThe spirit's yearning cry,
ããThe striving after better hopesâ
ããThese things can never die.
ããThe timid hand stretched forth to aid
ããA brother in his need,
ããA kindly word in grief's dark hour
ããThat proves a friend indeed;
ããThe plea for mercy softly breathed,
ããWhen justice threatens nigh,
ããThe sorrow of a contrite heartâ
ããThese things shall never die.
ããLet nothing pass for every hand
ããMust find some work to do;
ããLose not a chance to waken loveâ
ããBe firm, and just, and true;
ããSo shall a light that cannot fade
ããBeam on thee from on high.
ããAnd angel voices say to theeâ
ããThese things shall never die.
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by Charles Dickens
ããThe pure, the bright, the beautiful,
ããThat stirred our hearts in youth,
ããThe impulses to wordless prayer,
ããThe dreams of love and truth;
ããThe longing after something's lost,
ããThe spirit's yearning cry,
ããThe striving after better hopesâ
ããThese things can never die.
ããThe timid hand stretched forth to aid
ããA brother in his need,
ããA kindly word in grief's dark hour
ããThat proves a friend indeed;
ããThe plea for mercy softly breathed,
ããWhen justice threatens nigh,
ããThe sorrow of a contrite heartâ
ããThese things shall never die.
ããLet nothing pass for every hand
ããMust find some work to do;
ããLose not a chance to waken loveâ
ããBe firm, and just, and true;
ããSo shall a light that cannot fade
ããBeam on thee from on high.
ããAnd angel voices say to theeâ
ããThese things shall never die.
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