Kneeling in the dust to form us,
molding with a potter's care,
god blows breath of life and Spirit
prelude in the morning air.
We become God's living vessels:
we, the flutes and pipes and reeds,
echoing the Spirit's music
through the witness of our deeds.
Shaped of flesh and bone and sinew,
sounding chambers for the Word,
we are tuned by daily practice,
seasoned by each lesson heard.
Skillfully, the Spirit plays us,
fingers deft on fret and string,
plucking melodies of yearning
as our hearts respond and sing.
Tempered bells resound more clearly,
forged of metals bright and pure.
So our lives, refined by Wisdom,
sound in accents that endure.
God's own had rings out the changes,
striking chords as yet unknown,
till a new earth fills with music
rich and sweet as heaven's own.
