The Sculptor


The Sculptor took a piece of clay
And holding it in His clutch,
Softened and made it pliable…
By His tender, caring touch.

He began carefully molding
And forming it in His way,
Until it was in the likeness…
Of His own Son’s bright array.

When the clay began to harden,
Before the work was complete,
The Sculptor once again softened…
As He held it at His feet.

Some folks prejudged His handiwork,
For they knew not of His plans,
They could not see the finished piece…
Being fashioned in His hands.

Then one day the trumpet sounded,
And the Sculptor’s work was done…
What a glorious creation…
The image of Christ, His Son.

O God, break us, mold us, make us
In the likeness of Thy Son…
And may we not judge our brother…
Till Thy perfect work is done.

“Thy hands have made me and fashioned me”
“Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear
what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be
like him; for we shall see him as he is.”
“Judge nothing before the time, until the Lord come”
(Ps 119:73; I Jo 3:2; I Co 4:5)


~ Connie Campbell Bratcher - Oct, 2004 ~



Copyright © 2004, Connie C. Bratcher

Design © by Your Impressions


"Room at the Cross"