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Man's life is laid in the loom of time
   To a pattern he does not see,
While the Weaver works and the shuttles fly
   Till the doom of Eternity.

Some shuttles are filled with silver thread,
   And some with threads of gold;
While often but the darker hue
   Is all that they may hold.
But the Weaver watches with skilful eye
   Each shuttle fly too and fro.
And sees the pattern so deftly wrought
   As the loom works sure and slow.

God surely planned that pattern
   Each thread - the dark and the fair -
Was chosen by His master skill
   And placed in the web with care.
He only, knows the beauty
   And guides the shuttles which hold
The threads so unattractive,
   As well as the threads of gold.

Not till the loom is silent,
   And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the pattern
   And explain the reason why
The dark threads are as needful
   In the Weaver's skilful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
   In the pattern He had planned.

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