The Loom of Time

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

Some shuttles are filled with silver thread
And some with threads of gold
While often but the darker hues
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 patterns
Each thread, the dark and fair
Is chosen by his master skill
And placed in the web with care.

God only knows its beauty,
And guides the shuttles which hold
The threads so unattractive
As well as the threads of gold.

Not ‘til each loom is silent,
And the shuttles 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