O LORD JESUS, soft as clay in the Master's Hands, I would be
Willing clay... workable, compliant...
not fighting against THEE+
when I don't like the changes.
My lump of brittle dryness,
cracking, and falling in pieces...
not able to be used,
except for dustpan debris...
until the moisture of Thy Nearness+
is added unto me.
The stiffness and hardness of my clay heart then
... and only then...
kneaded thoroughly by the Potter of all flesh.
until I have reached that perfect state:
being totally malleable in Thy+ Hands.
Work me, make me supple under Thy+ Touch
until I don't fight THEE+ any more.
Form me, shape me,
into a vessel meet for Thy+ Use
... for Thy+ Divine Purpose...
on this battlefield of life.
And, help me not to harden
until the change has come.
My ears crave to hear this
at the setting of my sun:
"Enter thou into the joy of
My+ good and faithful servant...
+ + +