Nothing but leaves; memory weaves
No veil to screen the past:
As we retrace 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 words he breathes,—
"Nothing but leaves?"
LUCY E. AKERMAN.
* * * * *
THE WORLD.
"And when he is come, he will reprove the world of sin, and of
righteousness, and of judgment."—JOHN xvi. 8.
The world is wise, for the world is old;
Five thousand years their tale have told;
Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,—
Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me!
The world is kind if we ask not too much;
It is sweet to the taste, and smooth to the touch;
Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,—
Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me!
The world is strong, with an awful strength,
And full of life in its breadth and length;
Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,—
Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me!
The world is so beautiful one may fear
Its borrowed beauty might make it too dear,
Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be—
Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me!