A poem by George Elliot

"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's face -
No act most small
That helped some soul and nothing cost -
Then count that day as worse than lost."
 - George Elliot