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?"
VIRGINIA MERRIAM.
Battle Creek, Mich.