Things! Things! Things!
Laboring night and day
To add to one’s earthly store,
Treasures to rust and decay.
Things! Things! Things!
That never can satisfy
The longing of human hearts,
Born for a day --- but to die.
Things! Things! Things!
Gathered with anxious care,
For which not an inch of Heaven’s space
Will be found for keeping up there.
Things! Things! Things!
Bought with our silver and gold,
Which might have been used to send good news
To bring other sheep to His fold.
Things! Things! Things!
Often times bringing more strife,
Some day --- it may be today ---
You’ll be called to account for your life.
Things! Things! Things!
What then will you say to your Lord?
Your life’s work just wood hay, stubble ---
To be burned at the Great Judge’s word.
Things! Things! Things!
What then of the harvest at last?
Nothing but leaves, no rich golden sheaves
No crown at His feet to be cast.
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