Sorting through some old things I had saved from my high school days, I found a copy I had written of this poem…
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 rags and poverty,
'Til 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,
'Til 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!
~Martha Shell Nicholson