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.”