That wounded as it fell,
The chilling want of sympathy,
We feel, but never tell,
The hard repulse that chills the heart
Whose hopes were bounding high,
In an unfading record kept,-
These things shall never die.
Must find some work to do,
Lose not a chance to waken love;
Be firm, and just, and true.
So shall a light that cannot fade
Beam on thee from on high
And angel voices say to thee,
“These things shall never die!”