Form me, Lord, form me
Mold me in your hands
Till my heart adores thee
And I let go of my own plans

For you are the potter
And I the feeble clay
No longer for the slaughter
But in your arms i do stay

Cast me not to vain pride
When in the end I have been shaped
Into a vessel strong by your side
And imperfection has been scraped

For just as you build me up
Lord, you can smash me down
I am neither as strong nor tough
As you, oh King, who wears the crown

Melt my hardened heart
And break my will and desire
For anything that's not a part
Of you; father, son, and holy fire