It Isn't the Thing You Do
By Margaret E. Sangster
It Isn't the Thing You Do
It isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone,
That gives you a bit of heartache
At the setting of the sun.
The tender word forgotten,
The letter you did not write,
The flower you did not send, dear,
Are your haunting ghosts to-night; The stone you might have lifted
Out of a brother's way,
The bit of heartsome counsel
You were hurried too much to say,
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle, winning tone,
Which you had no time or thought for,
With trouble enough of your own,— These little acts of kindness
So easily out of mind,
These chances to be angels
Which we poor mortals find.
It isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone, —
That gives you a bit of heartache
At the setting of the sun.
— Margaret E. Sangster.