A Broken Vessel of Honour
Lord, you are the potter, and I am the clay.
You mold me, you re-make me,
You do it exactly your way.
No one can change or alter the vessel you've formed.
They may hate it, and it's name they may deplore,
but you are still molding it, making it beautiful as never before.
You take the ugly, broken-down vessels that are unwanted by all,
and you reform it, and build it strong so as never to fall.
You remake it with such love in your hand, thinking only of the beauty that will come from it.
When you are finished, a vessel of beauty sits there.
The vessel has gone through re-molding, and of pain it has had it's share.
Now it is completed. Transformed till it looks like new.
All glory and honour is given back to you
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