Man’s life is laid in the loom of time
To a pattern he does not see
While the weavers and the shuttles fly
Till the dawn of eternity

Some shuttles are filled with silver threads
And some with threads of gold
While often but the darker threads
Are all that they may hold.

But the weaver watches with
Skilful eye
Each shuttle fly to and fro
And sees the pattern so deftly wrought
As the loom moves sure and slow

God surely planned the pattern
Each thread, the dark and fair
Is chosen by his masters skill
And placed in the web with care.

God only knows it’s beauty
And guides the shuttles which hold
The threads so unattractive
As well as the threads of gold

Not till each loom is silent
And the shuttle cease to fly
Shall God reveal the pattern
And explain the reason why
The dark threads were as needful
In the weavers skilful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
For the pattern which he planned.

Anonymous