First Line: Nothing but leaves ! The Spirit grieves ,

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 reaps, from years of strife,
Nothing but leaves ! nothing but leaves !

2 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 !

3 Nothing but leaves ! Sad memory 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 !

4 Ah ! who shall thus the Master meet,
And bring but withered leaves ?
Ah ! who shall at the Saviour's feet,
Before the awful Judgment-seat,
Lay down, for golden sheaves,
Nothing but leaves, nothing but leaves ?