Things that never die. . .The pure, the bright, the beautiful that stirred our hearts in youth, The impulses to wordless prayer, The streams of love and truth, The longing after something lost, The sprit's yearning cry, The striving after better hopes. These things can never die.
A timid hand stretched forth to aid a brother in need. A kindly word in grief's dark hour that proves a friend indeed. The plea when justice threatens high, These things shall never die.
Let nothing pass, for every hand must find some work to do, Lose not a chance to weaken love; Be firm and just and true, So shall a light that cannot fade beam on thee from high. And angel voices say to thee. . .These things can never die.
My grandchildren, Grace Anne and John Haug, have sung this poem in their high school Choraliers group and I am especially fond of it.
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