I took a piece of plastic clay,
And idly fashioned it one day.
As my fingers pressed it still,
It moved and yielded at my will.
I came again when days were past,
That 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, (My Child)
And gently formed it day by day.
And molded with my power and art,
A young child's soft and yielding heart.
I came again when days were gone,
It was a man I looked upon.
He still that early impress bore,
And I could change it never more.
"Train up a child in the way
He should go
And when he is old he will not
Depart from it."