Surely not in vain My form from dust You made So gently shaped, designed Surely You would not decay Your craft on which You worked Back to common earth again Even a peevish boy Who forms a bowl from clay Seldom in a fit of anger Decides to smash his work Will He who formed the vessel Be it out of love or fancy In an afterthought destroy it? Would He who made a forest Complete with birds and fawns Then erupt a mountain To bury it in ash? Would He who loves a people Along an Asian coast Move the tranquil sea To drown it with a wave? How wondrous Your creations seem to me How trivial and common They must be to You