He is molding me day by day

He is making something of the clay.

Around and around in His hands

He is creating an image for His plans.

He sees me as a vessel of use

Squeezed but not with abuse.

Gently held so I will not fall

Softly He whispers His loving call.

"Bear the pain that comes today

I will hear you when you pray."

Then the wheel stops spinning,

And His hands start trimming.

To take away the unused clay

Which would ruin my joy today.

Firmly griped in the Potter's hands

His creation by His strength stands!