Out of this life I shall never take

Things of silver and gold I make.

All that I cherish and hoard away

After I leave, on earth must stay.

Though I have toiled for a painting rare

To hang on my wall, I must leave it there.

Though I call it mine and I boast its worth

I must give it up when I quit the earth.

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 the spirit had gathered some riches, too?

Or shall at the last it be mine to find

That all I had worked for I’d left behind?