Category Archives: Brown, T. E.

Lord, I Am Empty, Help Thou My Unemptiness


If thou couldst empty all thy self of self,
Like to a shell disinhabited,
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.”

“Indwelling,” Thomas Edward Brown