The Master was searching for a vessel to use,
on a shelf there were many,
Which one would He choose?
Pick me, cried the gold one,
I’m shiny and bright, I’m of great value,
and do things just right.
My beauty and lustre will outshine the rest,
and for someone like you, Master, I would be best.
But the Master passed on with no word at all,
He came to a silver urn, it was narrow and tall.
I’ll serve you, Dear Master, and I’ll pour your wine,
and be at your table whenever you dine.
My lines are so graceful and my carvings so true,
and my silver would 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, cried the goblet of crystal so clear,
my transparency shows my contents are dear.
Though fragile am I, I’ll serve you with pride,
and I’m sure I’d be happy in your house to abide.
But the Master came next to a vessel of wood,
polished and carved, it solidly stood. Use me,
Dear Master, the wooden bowl said,
But I’d rather you’d use me for fruit, please
no bread.
Then the Master looked down and saw a vessel of
clay, empty, broken, it helplessly lay.
No hope had that vessel, that the Master might choose to
cleanse and make whole, to fill or to use. Ah, this
is the vessel I’ve been hoping to find. I’ll mend it and I’ll
use it and I’ll make it all Mine.
I need not a vessel with pride in itself,
not the one so narrow who sits on the shelf,
nor the one who’s big mouthed and shallow and loud,
not the one who displays its contents so proud,
not the one who thinks he can do all things just right,
but this plain earthen vessel filled with MY power and might.
Then gently He lifted the vessel of clay,
mended and cleansed it and filled it that day.
He spoke to it kindly, there’s work you must do.
You pour out to others and I’ll pour into you.
By : Beulah V. Cornwall
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