"he fills my empty hands"

My soul doth wait on God,
From him my help proceeds;
His mercy is exceeding broad,
To overtake my needs.

He gives his pard'ning grace,
When I my sin confess;
Nor ever hides from me his face
In my distressfulness.

The Spirit of all pow'r,
Most freely he bestows;
And I am strong in evil hour,
When pressed by direst foes.

Oh, he has gifts in store,
More rich than wealth commands;
And when his pity I implore,
He fills my empty hands.

                          - from Magnificat, May 2021