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 
Till the dawn of eternity. 

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

But the weaver watches with skillful 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 master skill 
And placed in the web with care. 

He only knows its 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 shuttles cease to fly, 
Shall God reveal the pattern 
And explain the reason why 

The dark threads were as needful 
In the weaver's skillful hand 
As the threads of gold and silver 
For the pattern which He planned. 

- Unknown -