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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