Weavers All
Warp and Woof and Tangle,—
Weavers of Webs are we.
Living and dying—and mightier dead,
For the shuttle, once sped, is sped—is sped;—
Weavers of Webs are we.
White, and Black, and Hodden-gray,—
Weavers of Webs are we.
To every weaver one golden strand
Is given in trust by the Master-Hand;—
Weavers of Webs are we.
And that we weave, we know not,—
Weavers of Webs are we.
The threads we see, but the pattern is known
To the Master-Weaver alone, alone;—
Weavers of Webs are we.
