The Loom Of Time

Man’s life is laid in the loom of time
To a pattern he does not see
While the weavers and 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, 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 with 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 weaver’s skilful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
For the pattern which he planned.

—Author Unknown