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!