Lord, you are the potter
We are the clay
You mold us better as we age
Until we leave the final stage.

We will never understand your ways
You work in a mysterious manner
To help us bear your cross and banner
So trusting Lord in you
Mold me and shape me till I die
So I can reach your mansion in the sky.

You are the potter, we are your clay
To do with us as you will
Until our weary hearts grow still.

Shape me, lord, into a worthy chalice
That overflows with love
So it can hold no hate or malice
Purify me in the furnace fire
Take me from the cold of night
And keep me ever in your sight.

Ben V. Rodriguez
(in Hospital - Stroke)
Oct. 1997