The Song of the Potter

*** Revised Common Lectionary *** Lectionary Reading: Jeremiah 18:1-11 CLASSIC POEM: The Song of the Potter Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Turn, turn, my wheel! Turn round and round, Without a pause, without a sound: So spins the flying world away! This clay, well mixed with marl and sand, Follows the motion of my hand; For some must follow, and some command, Though all are made of clay! Turn, turn, my wheel! All things must change To something new, to something strange; Nothing that is can pause or stay; The moon will wax, the moon will wane, The mist and cloud will turn to rain, The rain to mist and cloud again, To-morrow be to-day. Turn, turn, my wheel! All life is brief; What now is bud will soon be leaf, What now is leaf will soon decay; The wind blows east, the wind blows west; The blue eggs in the robin’s nest Will soon have wings and beak and breast, And flutter and fly away. Turn, turn, my wheel! This earthen jar A touch can make, a touch can mar; And shall it to the Potter say, What makest thou? Thou hast no hand? As men who think to understand A world by their Creator planned, Who wiser is than they. Turn, turn, my wheel! ‘Tis nature’s plan The child should grow into the man, The man grow wrinkled, old, and gray; In youth the heart exults and sings, The pulses leap, the feet have wings; In age the cricket chirps, and brings The harvest home of day. Turn, turn, my wheel! The human race, Of every tongue, of every place, Caucasian, Coptic, or Malay, All that inhabit this great earth, Whatever be their rank or worth, Are kindred and allied by birth, And made of the same clay. Turn, turn, my wheel! What is begun At daybreak must at dark be done, To-morrow will be another day; To-morrow the hot furnace flame Will search the heart and try the frame, And stamp with honor or with shame These vessels made of clay. Stop, stop, my wheel! Too soon, too soon The noon will be the afternoon, Too soon to-day be yesterday; Behind us in our path we cast The broken potsherds of the past, And all are ground to dust at last, And trodden into clay. *** This poem is in the public domain, and may be read in a live-streamed worship service. CONTEMPORARY POEM: Clay Dave Smith SNIPPET: This heap of dirt contains nothing, no etched figure of man, no woman, … [ READ THE FULL POEM ]