—read the full poem below—
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!
-Martha Snell Nicholson