June 22
Companions of the Way (Evening)We are the clay, and Thou our Potter, and we all are the work of Thy hand.
AH, that sharp thrill through all my frame! And yet once more! withstand
I can no longer; in Thy name I yield me to Thy hand.
Such pangs were in the soul unborn, The fear, the joy were such,
When first it felt in that keen morn A dread, creating touch.
Maker of man, Thy pressure sure This grosser stuff must quell;
The spirit faints, yet will endure, Subdue, control, compel.
The Potter's finger shaping me . . . . Praise, praise! the clay curves up
Not for dishonour, though it be God's least adorned cup.
EDWARD DOWDEN
DAILY CARES