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I took a piece of modeling clay;

And idly molded 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 piece of clay was hard at last.

The shape I gave it still it bore;

And I could change it nevermore.

I took apiece of living clay;

And gently formed it, day by day.

I molded it with power and art -

A young child’s soft and yielding heart.

I cam again when years were gone;

He was a man I looked upon.

He still that early impress bore;

And I could change him nevermore.

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