I TOOK a piece of plastic clay
And idly fashioned it one day ;
And as my fingers pressed it still
It bent and yielded to my will.
I came again when days were past,
The bit of clay was hard at last ;
My early impress still it bore
And I could change its form no more.

I took a piece of living clay
And gently formed it day by day ;
Molding with parental art
A young boy's soft and yielding heart.
In time his tender years were gone,
It was a man I looked upon ;
My early impress still he bore
And I could change him nevermore !