When from night's loom the shadows deep unroll,
Make thou accounting; question thus the soul:
"Hast thou lent aught of thy God-trusted wealth,
To bring thy fellow unto peace or health?
Hast laid a balm to heal some sore hurt heart,
Withdrawn, despairing, from the press apart?
Hast shot a smile athwart misfortune's frown;
Or lifted up the brother, Wrong cast down?"
If none of these be done, thy deeds were naught;
It boots not with what toil thy day was fraught.
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