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.