The Master was looking for a vessel to use.
Before Him were many, which one would He choose?
"Take me," cried the gold one, "I'm shiny and bright,
I'm of great value, I do things just right.
My beauty and luster outshine the rest
And for someone like you Master, gold would be best."
The Master passed on with no word at all
and came to the silver urn, near a window tall.
"I'll serve you dear Master, I'll pour out your wine.
I'll be on your table whenever you dine.
My lines are so graceful, my carvings so true
and silver will always compliment you."
Unheeding, the Master passed onto the brass,
wide mouthed and shallow and polished like glass.
"Here, here," cried the vessel, "I know I will do,
place me on the table for all men to view."
"Look at me," cried the goblet of crystal so clear,
my transparency shows my contents so dear.
So fragile am I, I will serve you with pride
and I know I'll be happy in your house to abide."
The Master came next to the vessel of wood,
solid and polished it solidly stood.
"You may use me dear Master, but I'd rather be used for fruit, not bread.
Then the Master looked down and saw a vessel of clay,
empty and broken it helplessly lay,
no hope had the vessel that the Master might choose,
to mend and make whole to cleanse and to use.
"Ah, this is the vessel I've been hoping to find,
I'll cleanse it and mend it and make it all mine.
I need not the vessel of pride in itself,
nor one that is narrow to set on the shelf,
nor one that is big mouthed and shallow and loud,
nor one that displays it contents so proud,
nor one that thinks it can do things just right,
but this plain earthly vessel filled with power and might.
Then gently he lifted the vessel of clay,
cleansed it and mended it and filled it that day.
He spoke to it kindly, "There's work you must do,
just pour out to others as I pour into you."