If we sit down at set of sun,

And count the things that we 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 we may count the day well spent.

But if, through all the live-long day, 

We've eased no heart by yea or nay;

If through it all

We've nothing done that we can trace, 

That brought the sunshine to one face;

No act most small,

That helped some soul, and nothing cost, 

Thou count that day as worse than lost.