Empty Hands

Author: Martha Snell Nicholson

One by one He took them from me,
All the things I valued most:
Until I was empty-handed,
Every glittering toy was lost.

And I walked earth's highways, grieving,
In my rage and poverty,
Till I heard His voice inviting,
"Lift your empty hands to me."

So I held my hands toward heaven
And He filled them with a store
Of His own transcendent riches
Until they could hold no more.

And at last I comprehended,
With my stupid mind and dull,
That God could not pour His riches
Into hands already full.

 

“Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.” - Luke 6:38