The hymn was a sp­ecial fa­vo­rite at the ear­ly Moody and San­key meet­ings. I oft­en sang it as a so­lo for Mr. Moody’s le­cture on The Ho­ly Spi­rit.

While sing­ing it in Birm­ing­ham a la­dy was con­vinced, as she told me af­ter­wards, that her life had been no­thing but leaves; and she then de­cid­ed to de­vote the rest of her life to res­cu­ing her lost sis­ters. She se­cured a build­ing, which she called The Res­cue Home, and for years she ga­thered in poor, wretch­ed girls from the streets of the ci­ty, gave them em­ploy­ment, and taught them the way of life

Through her ef­forts hun­dreds of girls were saved. Af­ter her death the ci­ty of­fi­cials took up her work, em­ploy­ing oth­er women, who are still en­gaged in seek­ing the lost ones. On my last vis­it to Eng­land I had the plea­sure of vis­it­ing this res­cue home and sing­ing for the in­mates.

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During the mis­sion in 1884, writes M. C. Broad­man, of Stra­tford, East Lon­don, the hymn ‘No­thing but leaves’ was oft­en sung. It brought con­vic­tion to one of the stew­ards. He said that this song dis­turbed him. For years he had been a pro­fess­or of re­li­gion, but with pe­rson­al in­ter­est in view.

He said he trust­ed that hence­forth there would be fruit as well as leaves in his life. From that time he has been an ar­dent Chris­tian wor­ker.

Sankey, pp. 206–07