By Gilgal Queen, 15
I am a simple lump of clay
With gravel and impurities
But Lord, please mold me day to day
And take away the filth.
In the Potter’s hands I try to stay
Though sins of life beset me
And though sometimes I go astray,
My Potter won’t forget me.
The flames are hot and painful
And just before I crack
The fire dies and with my eyes
I behold a shining new self.
The love of the Potter is reflected
With each little contour and line
I thank the Lord that He saved me
Worthless, ugly, and blind
And forever I’ll know that where’er I go
He will always be mine.