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Kind words can never die, e'en though they fade;
Beauty and minstrelsy deathless were made.
What though the summer day passes at eve away,
Doth not the moon's soft ray silver the night?
Sweet thoughts can never die, though like the flowers
Their brightest hues may fly in wintry hours;
But when the gentle dew gives them their charms anew,
With many an added hue they bloom again.
Kind words can never die; cherished and blessed,
God knows how deep they lie stored in the breast.
Like childhood's simple rhymes said o'er a thousand times;
Aye, in all years and climes, distant and near.
Childhood can never die: wrecks of the past,
Float o'er the memory, bright to the last.
Many a happy thing, many a daisied spring
Float o'er time's ceaseless wing, far, far away.
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