CLAY.
* We are but clay,’ the preacher saith ; * The heart is clay, and clay the brain, And soon or late there cometh death To blend us with the earth again.’
Well, let the preacher have it so, And clay we are, and clay shall be :— Well, so be it ! for this I know, That clay does very well for me.
When clay has such red mouths to kiss, Strong hands to grasp it is enough : How can I take it aught amiss We are not made of rarer stuff?
And if one tempt you to believe His choice would be immortal gold. Question him, can you then conceive A warmer heart than clay can hold.
Or richer joys than clay can feel ? And when perforce he falters Nay, Bid him renounce his wish and kneel, In thanks for this same common clay.
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/NZGRAP18941013.2.26
Bibliographic details
New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIII, Issue XV, 13 October 1894, Page 352
Word Count
142CLAY. New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIII, Issue XV, 13 October 1894, Page 352
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Acknowledgements
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