Count that day lost

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.   By George Eliot