Out of this life I’m unable to take
Things of silver and gold I make.
All that I cherish and hoard away,
And I leave, on this earth must stay.
All that I gather, and all that I keep,
I must leave behind when I fall asleep.
And I wonder often what I shall own
In that other life, when I pass alone.
What shall they find, and what shall they see
In the soul that answers the call for me?
Shall the Great Judge learn, when my task is through,
That my spirit has gathered some riches too?
Or shall at the last it be mine to find
That all that I’d worked for I’d left behind?