The Master was searching for a vessel to use;

On the shelf there were many; which one would He choose?

"Take me!" called the gold one, "I'm shiny and bright,

I'm worth a great deal and I do things just right.

My beauty and luster would outshine the rest,

And for someone like You, Master, I would be blessed!"

The Master passed on with no comment at all,

And He saw silver urns, standing narrow and tall.

"I'll serve You, dear Master, I'll pour out Your wine,

And I'll be at Your table whenever You dine.

My lines are so graceful, my carvings so true,

And my silver would beautifully 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'll do!

Place me on Your table for all men to view!"

"Look at me!" cried the goblet of crystal so clear,

"My transparency shows all my contents so fair.

Though fragile am I, I will serve you with pride,

And I'm sure I'd be pleased in Your house to abide."

The Master came next to a vessel of wood,

All polished and carved, it solidly stood.

"You may use me, dear Master," the wooden bowl said,

"But I'd rather You use me for fruit, please – not bread!"

Then the Master gazed down on a vessel of clay;

Empty and broken it helplessly lay;

No hope had this vessel, the master might choose,

To cleanse and to mend, and to fill and to use.

"Ahh! This is the vessel I hoped that I'd find!

I'll cleanse it and mend it and make it all mine.

I need not the vessel with pride of itself,

Nor the vessel so narrow who sits on the shelf.

Not the one who is big mouthed and shallow and loud,

Nor the one who displays all its contents so proud;

Not the vessel who thinks that he knows what he's worth,

I just need a plain little pot made of earth.

Then gently, He picked up the vessel of clay,

He mended it, cleansed it, and filled it that day;

And He spoke to it softly, "There's work you must do;

You just pour out to others, and I'll pour into you."