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 live long 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.
By George Eliot (Mary Anne Evanse)
