With one hand He gives, with the other He takes

Filling and emptying the soul,

Carving out receptivity to His Name

With each deft blow of His soul-sculpturing hands.


I am never full, nor ever bereft; neither am I,

But all is He.

I am His form. No other form have I

And it is to the shelter of His Name He guides me

Regardless of how He shapes me.


God wants me to want only Him;

To have no place to rest outside of His Heart,

To hold nothing in mind without the thought of Him.


To this He surely bends my will to His own,

Silently, so that no one,

Not even I see His hands hard at work.

But I cry out nevertheless,

Let it be done!

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