Nothing but Leaves

Nothing but leaves! The Spir­it grieves

O’er years of 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!

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—

Then reap

with toil and pain

Nothing but leaves!

Nothing but leaves!

Nothing but leaves! Sad me­mo­ry weaves

No veil to hide the past;

And as we trace our wea­ry way

And count each lost and mis­spent day

We sad­ly find at last—

Nothing but leaves!

Nothing but leaves!

Ah

who shall thus the Mas­ter meet

And bring but with­ered leaves?

Ah

who shall

at the Sav­ior’s feet

Before the aw­ful judg­ment seat

Lay down

for gold­en sheaves

Nothing but leaves!

Nothing but leaves!