Scribbles for my bad memory

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.

Then count that day as worse than lost.