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If you sit down at set of sunAnd 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.
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