Crude, and yet not too poor to show the man
Hid in the maker’s thought—
How different yet if some skilled artisan
The ball of clay had wrought.
To-day within my hands my children lie,
I shape them as I will,
And seek for aid from Him that is on high,
That He may with His skill
Teach my weak, willing hands to rightly mold
The clay that I have sought,