Behold the Potter and the Clay

Behold the pot­ter and the clay

He forms his ves­sels as he please;

Such is our God

and such are we

The sub­jects of His high de­crees.

Doth not the work­man’s pow­er ex­tend

O’er all the mass

which part to choose

And mold it for a nob­ler end

And which to leave for vil­er use?

May not the sov­er­eign Lord on high

Dispense His fa­vors as He will

Choose some to life

while oth­ers die

And yet be just and gra­cious still?

What if

to make His ter­ror known

He lets His pa­tience long en­dure

Suff’ring vile re­bels to go on

And seal their on de­struct­ion sure?

What if He means to show His grace

And His elect­ing love em­ploys

To make out some of mor­tal race

And form them fit for heav’n­ly joys?

Shall man re­ply against the Lord

And call his mak­er’s ways un­just

The thun­der of whose dread­ful word

Can crush a thou­sand worlds to dust?

But

O my soul! if truths so bright

Should daz­zle and con­found thy sight

Yet still His writ­ten will ob­ey

And wait the great de­ci­sive day.

Then shall He make His jus­tice known

And the whole world be­fore His throne

With joy or ter­ror shall con­fess

The glo­ry of His right­eous­ness.