The Weaver Poems tells us about the life of a weaver, how he skillfully weaves each thread through the loom to make a cloth and finally after a lot of hard work he succeeds in making the cloth. Our lives are like threads which we weave throughout our life and finally our life ends. How we act in our life and how we fulfill our life is up to us.
A Single Stitch
The Loom Of Life
Poet: Eben E. Rexford
All day, all night, I can hear the jar
Of the loom of life, — and near and far
It thrills with its deep and muffled sound,
As the tireless wheels go always ’round.
Busily, ceaselessly, goes the loom,
In the light of day, and the midnight’s gloom;
The wheels are turning early and late,
And the woof is wound in the warp of fate.
Click, click! there’s a thread of love wove in;
Click, click! another of wrong and sin.
What a checkered thing will this life be
When we see it unrolled in eternity!
Time, with a face like mystery,
And hands as busy as hands can be,
Sits at the loom with its arm outspread,
To catch in its meshes each glancing thread.
When shall this wonderful web be done?
In a thousand years, perhaps, or one;
Or to-morrow. Who knoweth? Not you nor I!
But the wheels turn on, and the shuttles fly.
Are we spinners of wool for this life-web, — say?
Do we furnish the weaver a thread each day?
It were better, then, oh, my friend, to spin
A beautiful thread than a thread of sin.
Ah, sad-eyed weaver, the years are slow,
But each one is nearer the end, I know:
Some day the last thread shall be woven in, –
God grant it be love instead of sin!
Weave In The Web Of Life
Just A Weaver
by Benjamin Malacia Franklin
My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.
Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the under side.
Not til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver’s skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
He knows, He loves, He cares,
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives His very best to those
Who chose to walk with Him.
Poet: Father Tabb
My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me;
I may not choose the colors,
He knows what they should be;
For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side,
While I can see it only
On this, the lower side.
Sometimes He weaveth sorrow,
Which seemeth strange to me;
But I will trust His judgment,
And work on faithfully;
’Tis He Who fills the shuttle.
He knows just what is best,
So I shall weave in earnest
And leave with Him the rest.
At last when life is ended,
With Him I shall abide,
Then I may view the pattern
Upon the upper side;
Then I shall know the reason
Why pain, with joy entwined.
Was woven in the fabric
Of life that God designed.
All The Good We Can
If the sunshine never crept
Into hovels dark and sad,
If its glories never shone
Save where everything was glad,
If it scattered not its beams
Over hearts by sorrow chilled,
Would the sunshine do His will?
Would its mission be fulfilled?
If the roses never bloomed,
Save for gladsome eyes alone,
If their beauty and their grace
For the weary never shone,
If they never brought a smile
To the way-side passer-by,
Would the roses do their task
While the hours of summer fly?
If the sunshine of our smiles
We have scattered not afar,
If our roses—kindly deeds—
Bloom not where the lowly are.
If our words of hope and joy
Never fail to bless and cheer,
Have we done our Maker’s will?
Have we wrought our mission here?