"I took a piece of plastic clay,
and idly fashioned it one day,
and as my fingers pressed 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 with my power and art
A young child’s soft and yielding heart.

I came again when days were gone;
it was a man I looked upon;
He still that early impress bore
And I could change it nevermore."

Anonymous