NOTHING BUT LEAVES.
Nothing but leaves: the spirit grieves
Over a wasted life.
Sins committed while conscience slept;
Promises made, but never kept;
Hatred, battle, and strife—
Nothing but leaves.
Nothing but leaves: no garnered sheaves
Of life's fair ripened grain;
Words, idle words, for earnest deeds.
We sow our seed—lo! tares and weeds:
Go reap with toil and pain
Nothing but leaves.
Nothing but leaves: memory weaves
No veil to sever the past;
As we return our weary way,
Counting each lost and misspent day,
We find sadly, at last,
Nothing but leaves.
And shall we meet the Master so,
Bearing our withered leaves?
The Saviour looks for perfect fruit:
We stand before Him, humbled, mute,
Waiting the word He breathes—
Nothing but leaves.
—Unidentified.