If you sit down at set of sun

And count the acts that you have done,

And, counting, find

One self-denying deed, 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.