I am a lily,
Beautiful in the eyes of my maker,
Whose hands perfected my flaws.
I do not strive for perfection,
Nor dwell in the paucity,
But live to show the beauty,
And the splendor of his works.

Like a violin,
I don’t obey the commanding notes,
But the hands of the one who guides me,
And the bow that aims my soul.
In this same way,

I am a bowl of clay.
Molded by his hands,
Soothed by his love.
He smooths my cracks and edges,
And spins my cares away.
The Lord’s been working on me,

Like coal beneath the surface,
And with a little patience,
One day I’ll be a diamond.
But until that day,
I guess I’ll stay,
A lily, small and splendid.