(an old favorite poem by Amy Carmichael, missionary to India … enjoy.)
Upon the sandy shore an empty shell,
Beyond the shell infinity of sea;
O Savior, I am like that empty shell,
Thou art the Sea to me.
A sweeping wave rides up the shore, and lo,
Each dim recess the coiled shell within,
Is searched, is filled, is filled to overflow,
By water crystalline.
Not to the shell is any glory then:
All glory give we to the glorious sea.
And not to me is any glory when
Thou overflowest me.
Sweep over me Thy shell, as low I lie;
I yield me to the purpose of Thy will,
Sweep up, O conquering waves, and purify,
And with Thy fullness fill.