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The Potter's Hands

I feel the pressure
Of the Hands that tear me apart
And put me together again;
That hold me for hours
But work as such
That I'll go for days
Withour a touch;
That drench me,
Then suffer me to dry;
That work gently,
Then press me till I nearly die.
The potter's hands
Must work in this way
To make something useful
From a lump of clay.
(Author Unknown)

           He Didn't Throw The Clay Away

             Empty and broken, I came back to Him,
           A vessel unworthy, so scarred with sin
              But He did not despair, He started
          over again
            And I bless the day, He didn't throw
          the clay away.
           
                 Over and over, He molds me And makes me
               Into His likeness, He fashions the clay
           A vessel of honor, I am today
                All because Jesus didn't throw the clay away.
         
           He is the Potter and I am the clay
           Molded in His image He wants me to stay
                   But when I stumble and fall and my vessel breaks
           He just picks up the pieces,
            He doesn't throw the clay away.
         
             Over and over, He molds me And makes me
               Into His likeness, He fashions the clay
           A vessel of honor, I am today
                  All because Jesus didn't throw the clay away.

         Gene Reasoner/New Chelsea Press

       

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