Master Potter, why do you labor all day,
Giving such effort to rough, worthless pieces of clay?
Why such feeling in your hands?
Why such care in ev'ry touch?
Why all the struggle?
Your creation is nothing but dust.

I'm molding a masterpiece, a work of great beauty.
I'm molding a masterpiece; my labor's not done.
A trophy, a treasure of worth beyond measure
I'm molding a masterpiece, a masterpiece of love.

Loving Jesus, why are the children all here,
Gathered around You and eagerly clinging so near?
Urgent matters clamor loudly, and the children interfere
Why do You hold them, and so tenderly dry ev'ry tear?

I'm molding a masterpiece, a work of great beauty.
I'm molding a masterpiece; my labor's not done.
A trophy, a treasure of worth beyond measure
I'm molding a masterpiece, a masterpiece of love.

Heavenly Father, sometimes I question Your way:
Why do you ask me to mold simple pieces of clay?
Give me eyes to see the future, though it's hidden from my view;
Give me compassion as I'm molding a treasure for You.

I'm molding a masterpiece, a work of great beauty.
I'm molding a masterpiece; my labor's not done.
A trophy, a treasure of worth beyond measure
I'm molding a masterpiece, a masterpiece of love.

--by Ron Hamilton