Master Potter, why do You labour all day

Giving such effort to rough worthless pieces of clay

Why such feeling in Your hands

Why such care in every touch

Why all the struggle, Your creation is nothing but dust

I’m moulding a masterpiece, a work of great beauty

I’m moulding a masterpiece, My labour’s not done

A trophy, a treasure of worth beyond measure

I’m moulding a masterpiece, a masterpiece of love

Loving Jesus, why are the children all here

Gathered around You and eagerly clinging so near

Urgent matters clamour loudly, and the children interfere

Why do You hold them and so tenderly dry every tear

Heavenly Father, sometimes I question Your way

Why do You ask me to mould simple pieces of clay

Give me eyes to see the future

Though it’s hidden from my view

Give me compassion as I’m moulding a treasure for You