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 passed

The bit of clay was hard at last;

The form I gave it, it still bore,

But I could change the form no more.

I took a piece of living clay

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 years were gone

It was a man I looked upon;

He still that early impress wore.

And I could change him nevermore.

Anon.