The Potter's Hand


But no, O Lord, thou art our father, we are the clay, and thou
the potter; and we are the work of thy hand.
Isaiah 64:8


To the potter's house I went down one day,
and watched him while moulding the vessels of clay,
And many a wonderful lesson I drew,
As I noted the process the clay went through;
Trampled and broken, downtrodden and rolled,
To render more plastic and fit for the mould.
How like the clay that is human I thought,
When in heavenly hands to perfection is brought.
For self must be cast as the dust at His feet,
Before it is ready for service made meet,
And pride must be broken,and self-will lost,
All laid on the alter, whatever the cost.


But low, by and by, a delicate face,
Of wonderful beauty and exquisite grace.
Was it once the vile clay! Oh yes!!!!! Yet, how strange!
The potter has wrought so marvelous a change!
Not a trace of the earth, nor mark of the clay,
The fires of the furnace have burned them away.
Wondrous skill of the potter- the praise is His due,
In whose hands to perfection and beauty it grew:
Thus with souls lying still, content in God's hand,
That do not His power of working withstand.
They are moulded and fitted, a treasure to hold.
Vile clay now transformed into purest of gold!

M. F. Clarkson