IF you sit down at set of sun,

And count the acts that you have done,

And, counting, find 

One self-denying act, one word 

That eased the heart of him who heard;

One glance most kind, 

That fell like sunshine where it went, 

Then you may count that day well spent.

But if through all the livelong day 

You've cheered no heart by yea or nay;

If through it all

You've nothing done that you can trace, 

That brought the sunshine to one face;

No act most small,

That helped some soul, and nothing cost, 

Then count that day as worse than lost.