I took a piece of plastic clay

And idly fashioned it one day,

And as my fingers pressed it still,

It moved and yielded to my will.

I came again when days were past;

The bit of clay was hard at last,

The form I gave it still it bore,

But I could change that form no more.

I took a piece of living clay,

And touched it gently day by day,

And molded with my power and art

A young child’s soft and yielding heart.

I came again when years were gone;

It was a mind I looked upon;

That early impress still he wore,

And I could change that form no more.

— Author Unknown