The Master was searching
For a vessel to use;
On the shelf there were many -
Which one would He choose?
Take me, cried the gold one,
I'm shiny and bright,
I'm of great value
And I do things just right.
My beauty and luster
Will outshine the rest
And for someone like You, Master,
Gold would be the best!
The Master passed on
With no word at all;
He looked at a silver urn,
Narrow and tall;
I'll serve You, dear Master,
I'll pour out Your wine
And I'll be at Your table
Whenever You dine,
My lines are so graceful,
My carvings so true, and
My silver will always compliment You.
Unheeding the Master
Passed on to the brass,
It was wide mouthed and shallow,
And polished like glass.
Here! Here! cried the vessel,
I know I will do,
Place me on Your table
For all men to view.
Look at me, called the goblet
Of crystal so clear,
My transparency shows
My contents so dear,
Though fragile am I,
I will serve You with pride,
And I'm sure I'll be happy
In Your house to abide.
The Master came next
To a vessel of wood,
Polished and carved,
It solidly stood.
You may use me, dear Master,
The wooden bowl said,
But I'd rather You used me
For fruit, not for bread!
Then the Master looked down
And saw a vessel of clay.
Empty and broken
It helplessly lay.
No hope had the vessel
That the Master might choose,
To cleanse and make whole,
To fill and to use.
Ah! This is the vessel
I've been hoping to find,
I will mend and use it
And make it all Mine.
I need not the vessel
With pride of its self;
Nor the one who is narrow
To sit on the shelf;
Nor the one who is big mouthed
And shallow and loud;
Nor one who displays
His contents so proud;
Not the one who thinks
He can do all things just right;
But this plain earthy vessel
Filled with My power and might.
Then gently He lifted
The vessel of clay.
Mended and cleansed it
And filled it that day.
Spoke to it kindly.
There's work you must do,
Just pour out to others
As I pour into you.
