Poem November 6, 1937 Issue

The Potter

ELIZABETH PRICE

I stood within the potter's place
And watched him working at his wheel;
He wrought with careful skill and grace,
The clay was molded to his will.

I saw the vessels he had made,
Some rough, some smooth, some large or small,
Of different shape and size and shade,
Yet this same potter made them all.

He tried them in the furnace heat
To bring out quality and tone,
And when the process was complete
Each one with greater beauty shone.

The master potter—God above—
Has fashioned man by His own will;
We are refined by Truth and Love,
And bear our Maker's image still.

Each one must fill his rightful place,
Each has his own peculiar task;
We must reflect the potter's grace—
What greater blessing could we ask?

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