Man's life is laid in the Loom of Time

To a pattern he does not see

While the weaver works and the shuttles fly

Till the doom of eternity.

Some shuttles are filled with a silver thread

And some with threads of gold

While often but the darker hue

Is 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 that pattern

Each thread, the dark and fair

Was chosen by His master's 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 the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly

Shall God unroll the pattern

And explain the reason why

The dark threads are so needful

In the weaver's skilful hand,

As the threads of gold and silver

In the pattern he had planned. Mr J L Truman

Mellor Grove, Bolton

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.