Your hands have made me and modelled me from flesh,
like a potter who with delicate skill
turns a lump of clay into a vessel:
then suddenly You make me stumble.

Remember before You damn me
that You formed me from mire
and slimy mud, and that after my death
You will make me return to dusty earth.

You poured me like new milk,
which thickens and curdles in rennet.
You put together my body from nerves and bones,
then, clothed with flesh and skin,

You gave me life and years,
leading me in the way of your grace,
and by the light  of your divine face
have guided my steps, my spirit, and my senses.

Remy Belleau

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