Blessing | Money | Poetry | Poverty | Risk | Submission

I gave them to Him,
All the things I’d valued so.
Until I stood there empty-handed./Every glittering toy did go.
And I walked earth’s lonely highways
In my rags and poverty;
‘Till I heard His voice entreating,
“Lift your empty hands to me.”
Empty hands I lifted to Him
And He filled them with a store
Of His own transcendent riches
Till my hands could hold no more.
And at last I comprehended,
With my mind so slow and dull,
That God could not pour His riches
Into hands already full. Source unknown

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