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Poem	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.
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