When I was young, I’d disassemble clocks
So I could understand what made them go.
With tools in hand, and pieces in a box,
I’d wonder, and I’d look, and then I’d know.
But lacking tools to take myself apart,
I understand myself through what I’m told,
And one friend told me I am young at heart—
Another said my soul is very old.
If I can trust them both (I think I can),
Then I have been—repaired, or else restored.
Is it sometimes the lot of broken man
To go back to the workshop of the Lord?
     Some say that Great Clockmaker stands aloof,
     But I know otherwise—and I’m the proof!