I marvel that within His hand
This mortal clay should lie;
That He would take this worthless self
To cleanse and purify.

His precious blood removes the dross,
The sin, the guilt, the shame,
So that he can impress on me
His signature and name.

A purpose for this lump of clay?
Dear Lord, how can it be,
That Thy blessed hand should be the one
To form and fasten me?

I'll lie submissive in Thy hands,
I'll trust thy love and care,
Despite the hurting cuts and prods,
To make this vessel fair.

How marvelous that I should lie
Within the Potter's hands,
That He should form and fasten me,
According to His plan.