My last post reminded me of this poem, one of my favorites.
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 are 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."
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Please allow me to translate this poem... To Be or Not to Be!
If thou could'st empty all thyself of self,
If one could empty themselves after drinking a gallon of water...
Like to a shell dishabited,
And wear a seashell bikini top (like Brent),
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,
Then he might find himself on a secluded tropical island,
And say, "This is not dead,"
And fill thee with Himself instead.
And say, "This is the life I've always dreamed of."
But thou are all replete with very thou
Bla bla blaaaa bla bla
And hast such shrewd activity,
And has no one on the island to play poker with
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."
And says, "This is me...let me be, this island is so small, but I am so full and there is no room for me in the inn."
THE END!
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