POETRY SPOT

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Margaret Elizabeth Sangster (1838 – 1912) was an American poet, author, and editor. Her poetry was inspired by family and church themes, and included hymns and sacred texts. She worked in several fields including book reviewing, story writing, and verse making. For a quarter of a century, Sangster was known by the public as a writer, beginning as a writer of verse, and combining later the practical work of a critic and journalist. Much of her writing did not include her name.

From:

https://allpoetry.com/The-Sin-Of-Omission

The below poem. The Sin of Omission, explores the notion of regret and the consequences of neglecting small acts of kindness. It emphasises that it is not the actions taken but those left undone that can haunt us. The poem's focus on missed opportunities and neglected responsibilities aligns with the Victorian era's preoccupation with morality and social duty. Compared to Sangster's other works, it shares a similar theme of regret and the importance of empathy, but with a more concise and direct approach. The poem's simple and accessible language makes its message universal and relatable across time periods.

The Sin Of Omission

By Margaret E. Sangster

It isn't the thing you do, dear,

It's the thing you leave undone

That gives you a bit of a heartache

At the setting of the sun.

The tender word forgotten;

The letter you did not write;

The flowers you did not send, dear,

Are your haunting ghosts at night.

The stone you might have lifted

Out of a brother's way;

The bit of hearthstone counsel

You were hurried too much to say;

The loving touch of the hand, dear,

The gentle, winning tone

Which you had no time nor thought for

With troubles enough of your own.

Those little acts of kindness

So easily out of mind,

Those chances to be angels

Which we poor mortals find—

They come in night and silence,

Each sad, reproachful wraith,

When hope is faint and flagging

And a chill has fallen on faith.

For life is all too short, dear,

And sorrow is all too great,

To suffer our slow compassion

That tarries until too late;

And 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.

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