Magical Moulding


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,
And I could change that form no more.

I took a piece of living clay,
And gently formed it, day by day;
And moulded it with power and art—
A young child’s soft and yielding heart.

I came again when years were gone,
It was a man I looked upon,
He still that early impress bore,
And I could change that form no more.

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