The Loom Of Live

All day, ;iH niffht I can hcar the jar Ol the loom of life, and near and far It thrills with its deep and muffled sound As the tirelcss wheels go always round. Busily. ceasclessly, gocs the loom In the light of day and the imdniLht glooni. The wheels are Lurning early and late, And the woof is wound in the warp of fate. Click, Clack ! there's a thread of love wove in. Click, clack I and anothcr of wrong and sin ; What a check e red thing will this liTe be When we sce it unrolled in eturnity. Time, with a face like mystery, Aiul hands as busy as hands can be, Sits at the loom with its warp outsprend To catch in its meshes each gluncinjj thrcad. When shall this wonderful web be done? In t thousand years, perhaps, or one Or to-morrow. Who knoweth? Not you nor I, lint the wiitels turn on, and the shuttles riy. Ah, sad-cved wen ver, the years are slow, itut ch one is nearer Lhe end I koow ; And iomc day the last thread shall be wove in. God grant it be love instead of sin. Are we spinners of woof for this life web, say r Do we furnish the weaver a thread each day? It rere Ix-tter, then, O, my friend to spin A beautiful thread than a thrcad of sm.