---
title: Improvement Era
description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930.
authors:
  - Sangster, Margaret E.
collections:
  - periodicals
tags:
  - magazine
  - improvement-era
periodical: Improvement Era
volume: 4
number: 8
published: 1901-06
publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations
publisher_place: Salt Lake City
language: en
type: magazine
reference: 'Margaret E. Sangster, "It Isn’t the Thing You Do: A Poem," *Improvement Era* 4, no. 8 (June 1901): 601.'
source:
  url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0408unse
  transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers.
  identifier: improvementera0408unse
start_page: 601
end_page: 601
rights:
  status: public-domain
  basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1901-06)
  source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0408unse
  publication_year: 1901
  note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1901, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright.
---

# It Isn’t the Thing You Do: A Poem

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and strong shall come.


                  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 iiower you did not send, dear,
                     Are your haunting ghosts tonight.
                   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
                   Which gives you a bit of a heartache
                     At the setting of the sun.
                                   Margaret E. Sangster.