I took a piece of plastic clay
And idly fashioned it one day,
And as my fingers prest it still,
It moved and yielded to my will.
I came again when days were past;
The bit of clay was hard at last,
The form I gave it still it bore,
But I could change that form no more.
I took a piece of living clay,
And gently formed it day by day,
And molded it with power and art--
A young child’s soft and yielding heart.
I came again when years were gone;
He was a man I looked upon;
He still that early impress wore.
And I could change him never more.
(Text.)
(1555)