Out of the life, I shall never take Though I lailed for a painting rare And I wonder often, what will I own
Things of silver and gold I make
All that I cherish and hoard away
When I leave these things on earth must stay.
To hang on my wall, I must leave it there
Though I call it mine and boast its worth
I must give it up when I quit this earth
All that I gather and all that I keep
I must leave behind when I fall asleep
In that other life when I pass along.
What shall He find and what shall He see
In the soul that answers the call for me?
Will the Great Judge find when my task is through
That my soul has gathered some riches, too?
Or at the last it will be mine to find
Though I lailed for a painting rare And I wonder often, what will I own
And I wonder often, what will I own