If you sit down at set of sunAnd count the acts that you have done,And, counting, findOne self-denying deed, one wordThat eased the heart of him who heard,One glance most kindThat 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 allYou've nothing done that you can traceThat brought the sunshine to one face--No act most smallThat helped some soul and nothing cost --Then count that day as worse than lost.