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Nothing but leaves

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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 rip�ning 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 mem�ry 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!