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 earths highway, grieving,
In my rags 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,
'Till they could contain no more.
And at last I comprehended
With my stupid mind and dull,
That God could not pour His riches
Into hands already full.
By Martha Snell Nicholson
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