December 22

Come then, Lord God, Holy One that lovest me! for when Thou shalt come into my heart, all that is within me shall leap for joy.

If thou could'st 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."

T. E.

BROWN,

Collected

Poems

(1900)

GETHSEMANE