The Teacher

by

— Cardinal Spellman —

 

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,

But I could change that form no more.

 

I took a piece a 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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