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OF CLAY

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Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Feb 27, 1879

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 53, No. 9.

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OF CLAY.

By Hope Harvey

“Make me a statue fair,” the Master said, “Which shall thy love and skill and patience show; In every line be my true image laid, Make it of clay, but make it white as snow.”
This strange commission, though in seeming hard, The artist all unquestioning received; And though from hope almost he felt debarred, He never o’er the stern conditions grieved.
To do whatever should the Master ask, This was his loyal, loving wish alway; So he accepted the appointed task, And bowed his head and meekly went his way.
Day after day he wrought with patient care, Night after night he mourned his labor vain; And then with varying courage or despair, Made and unmade, molded and marred again.
His model grew into a form more fair, Despite his often sore disquietudes; And when his work he mixed with faith and prayer, Came gleams of joy in peaceful interludes.
At length there came the final Judgment-day, The day of all his days the blight or bloom, When he must show his statue made of clay, And hear the Master’s plaudit or his doom.
“O waiting Master! scrutinizing, wise, Canst thou one feature of thine own discern? On my poor work can thine expectant eyes One smallest glance of sweet approval turn?
“In shapeless clay to make thy face appear How long these trembling hands have daily toiled. I strove to wash it white with many a tear, And yet behold it darkly seamed and soiled!”
The Master smiled upon his servant good, And raised his wonder-working wand, and lo! The statue in his own clear likeness stood; And made of clay, it shone as white as snow!
We too have labored, wearily and late, To form ourselves into His image true Whose life it is our life to imitate, Who saith, “Behold, I render all things new.”
According to thy word, renew us then, After thy Spirit’s excellence, we pray, O Master! lest for aye our hearts remain Clay cold, clay dull, and wrought throughout but clay.
O’er our life-moulds, stained, distorted thus, Lift thou thy gracious, all-transforming rod; Show how the things impossible with us, Weak mortals, yet, are possible with God.
—Hope Harvey, in Christian Weekly.