The Master's Hand

I had me some big plans, some dreams unfulfilled,
With my lump of clay I was going to build,
Great were the castles devised in my mind,
Up until now there’d been none of its kind,
Then a gentle voice said, ‘But your castles are sand,
Won’t you put your clay in the Master’s hand?

But I had the answers so I shook my head,
‘I’ve got it worked out’ I foolishly said,
Never mind that my hands were weak and unskilled,
With my clay and my dreams I was going to build
My plans were fool-proof and they were so grand
To great to be touched by the Master’s hand

Well, the castles I’ve built with my arrogant pride
Are crumbling sadly though I’ve wept and I’ve cried,
Still my stubborn ambitions will not be defeated,
As I turn a deaf ear to an offer repeated
I resist his plea ‘need to do what I planned’
And I turn a blind eye to the Master’s hand

How sad are the follies devised by man,
How pathetic, how hopeless a Godless plan,
I sit in the rubble of my created despair,
Down-cast. I look up and I see a hand there,
And now, broken-hearted and defeated I stand
As I reach for the touch of the Master’s hand

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Janet Martin