4.05.2017

The Potter's Scars

In the Potter's house, the clay
Is upon a turning wheel,
Whether moving slow or swiftly,
All is at the Potter's will.
As it goes, the clay is pressed
Into the Potter's hand,
There He forms a vessel
According to His plan.
Yet, sometimes within the clay
There are hidden little stones,
And as the clay is formed,
Those stones are then made known.

And the Potter's hands are smooth,
For upon the vessel made
The fingerprints of the Potter
Are left upon the clay,
And in place of His fingerprints
Are scars placed by the stones
Hidden in the heart of the clay,
But to the Potter's hands were known.

Lord, when the wheel of life is turning
And I'm pressed into Your hands,
You gently work to mold me
According to Your plan.
Yet, sometimes there lay within me
Little sins like hidden stones,
And as my clay is fashioned 
Those stones are then made known.
Still You work to mold and make me,
Notwithstanding who I am,
Knowing that those hidden sins
Are the stones that scarred Your hands.

And the Potter's hands are smooth,
For upon the vessel made
The fingerprints of the Potter
Are left upon the clay,
And in place of His fingerprints
Are scars placed by the stones 
Hidden in the heart of the clay,
But to the Potter's hands were known.

I see the scars,
I thrust my hand into His side,
I see the tears
That He shed to make me right, 
I see the Cross
On which He died to remove all my dross,
I see the print of my sins
On my Blessed Savior's hands.

And in place of His fingerprints
Are scars placed by the stones
Hidden in the heart of the clay,
But to the Potter's hands were known.

Copyright © Elisabeth Radfar 2017

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