Текст оригинала на английском языке
The Empty Bowl
I held the golden vessel of my soul And prayed that God would fill it from on high. Day after day the importuning cry Grew stronger---grew, a heaven-accusing dole Because no sacred waters laved my bowl. "So full the fountain, Lord, wouldst Thou deny The little needed for a soul's supply? I ask but this small portion of Thy whole." Then from the vast invisible Somewhere, A voice, as one love-authorized by Him, Spake, and the tumult of my heart was stilled. "Who wants the waters must the bowl prepare; Pour out the self, that chokes it to the brim, But emptied vessels, from the Source are filled."
Английская поэзия - http://www.eng-poetry.ru/. Адрес для связи firstname.lastname@example.org