As clay within the pot­ter’s hand,
Responsive to his will,
So let us be, and in us, Lord,
Thy pur­pos­es ful­fill;
Made will­ing in Thy day of pow­er,
Each rest­less spi­rit still.

Lord, make this place Thy pot­ter’s house,
Where Thou shalt have Thy way,
To mold and fa­shion as Thou wilt,
Upon Thy wheel to­day;
Cleansing from sin’s im­pur­ity,
Make pli­ant as the clay.

Thou hast a pur­pose in each life,
Thou hast Thine own great plan;
Thou seest pos­si­bi­li­ties,
Unseen by us in man;
And where man says, Im­pos­si­ble,
Thy love has said, I can.

Dear Lord, too oft we’ve hin­dered Thee
And would not pas­sive lie,
And let Thee work Thy work in us,
Thy name to glo­ri­fy;
Now with de­sire Thy will be done,
Our long­ing spi­rits cry.