Empty Hands

It's unkind to a poet to only insert a stanza of their work, but due to the general lack of patience that most of us have with poetry, here is only one from a poem I read this morning. It is my prayer during these "what's next?" days.

My spirit bare before Thee stands;
I bring no gift, I ask no sign,
I come to Thee with empty hands,
The surer to be filled from Thine.

Dora Greenwell