If thou couldst empty all thyself
of self,

Like to a shell dishabited,

Then might He find thee
on the Ocean shelf,

And say — "This is not dead," —

And fill thee with Himself instead.

But thou art all replete
with very thou,

And hast such shrewd activity,

That, when He comes, He says —
"This is enow

Unto itself — 'Twere better let it be:

It is so small and full,

there is no room for Me."