Nothing But Leaves

"Nothing but leaves, the spirit grieves

Over a wasted life;

O'er sins indulged while conscience slept,

O'er vows and promises unkept,

And reap from years of strife

Nothing but leaves.

"Nothing but leaves, no gathered sheaves

Of life's fair, ripening grain;

We sow our seeds, lo! Tares and weeds,

Words, idle words for earnest deeds,

We reap with toil and pain

Nothing but leaves.

"Nothing but leaves, sad memory weaves

No vail to hide the past,

And as we trace our weary way,

Counting each lost and misspent day,

Sadly we find at last

Nothing but leaves.

"Ah! Who shall thus the Master meet,

Bearing but withered leaves?

Ah! Who shall at the Saviour's feet,

Before the awful judgment-seat,

Lay down for golden sheaves

“Nothing but leaves?"


Battle Creek, Mich.