HIS LITTLE LAMP OF CLAY

Created by the Potter,

This little lamp of clay,

Though worn and chipped in places, 

Is put to use each day.

With oil He fills me daily, 

He sets the wick alight, 

I falter first and flicker, 

Then steadily burn bright.

The glow I know is feeble, 

But constant is its stream, 

With light sufficient just to take, 

A step in its soft beam.

Light enough for just one step, 

With perfect confidence, 

To fill the jar and trim the lamp, 

I trust His Providence.

The time will come when oil and wick, 

Will finally be spent, 

My little light will die on earth, 

To reignite in heaven.

Myra D’Souza / 17^th August 2014
My 60th Birthday