I made my way into the abode of the potters
Every moment he shewed ruins of earth
I saw—any one who saw not is sightless
My ancestor’s dust on the hands of every potter.


F4 38

And has not such a Story from of Old
Down Man's successive generations roll'd
Of such a clod of saturated Earth
Cast by the Maker into Human mould?

HA 38b

I made my way into the (abode of the) potters of the age,
Every moment shewed some new skill with clay;
I saw, though men devoid of vision saw it not,
My ancestors' dust on the hands of every potter.


P 773

By the potter's shop yonder I passed t' other day;
At his clay he was hewing and pounding away:
I see (if the dullard perceive it not) aye
In the hand of each potter my forefather's clay.

Th 600

About a potter's shop I chanced to stray,
At every breath with axe he beat away
At earth; if dullards see not, I perceive
In every potter's hand my fathers' clay.

Wh 493

A potter at his work I chanced to see,
Pounding some earth and shreds of pottery;
I looked with eyes of insight, and methought
'Twas Adam's dust with which he made so free!

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