The Teacher

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 and when days were passed
The bit of clay was hard at last
The form I gave it still it bore
But I could not change that form no more

I took a piece 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 passed
It was a man I looked upon
He still that early impress bore
And I could change that form no more.