What each fusion,
And confusion,
In the grand result will show:
Weaving daily,
As he makes his busy shuttle,
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.
4. Weaver at his loom is sitting,
Throws his shuttle to and fro;
See you not how shape and order
From the wild confusion grow,
As he makes his shuttle go'?
As the web and woof diminish,
Grows beyond the beauteous finish:
Tufted plaidings,
Shapes and shadings,
All the mystery
Now is history:
And we see the reason subtle,
Why the weaver makes his shuttle,
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.
5. See the Mystic Weaver sitting,
High in Heaven-His loom below.
Up and down the treadles go:
Takes for web the world's long ages,
Takes for woof its kings and sages,
Takes the nobles and their pages,
Takes all stations and all stages.
Thrones are bobbins in His shuttle;
Armies make them scud and scuttle.
6. Web into the woof must flow,
Up and down the nations go,
As the Weaver wills they go.
Men are sparring,
Powers are jarring,
Upward, downward,
Hither, thither,
See how strange the nations go,
Just like puppets in a show.
Up and down the web is plying
And across the woof is flying.
What a rattling!
What a scuffling!
As the Weaver makes His shuttle
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.
7. Calmly see the Mystic Weaver,
Throw His shuttle to and fro;
'Mid the noise and wild confusion,
Well the Weaver seems to know
What each motion
And commotion,
What each fusion
And confusion,
In the grand result will show,
As the nations,
Kings and stations,
Upward, downward,
Hither, thither,
As in mystic dances, go.
8. In the Present all is mystery,
In the Past 'tis beauteous History.
O'er the mixing and the mingling,
How the signal bells are jingling!
See you not the Weaver leaving
Finished work behind in weaving'?
See you not the reason subtle,
As the web and woof diminish,
Changing into beauteous finish,
Why the Weaver makes His shuttle,
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle'?
9. Glorious wonder! What a weaving!
To the dull beyond believing!
Such no fabled ages know.
Only Faith can see the mystery
How, along the aisle of History
Where the feet of sages go,
Loveliest to the purest eyes,
Grand the mystic tapet lies!
Soft and smooth and even-spreading
As if made for angels' treading;
Tufted circles touching ever,
Inwrought figures fading never;
Every figure has its plaidings,
Brighter form and softer shadings;
Each illuminated,-what a riddle !—
From a Cross that gems the middle.
10. 'Tis a saying-some reject it,-
That its light is all reflected:
That the tapet's hues are given
By a Sun that shines in Heaven!
'Tis believed, by all believing
That great God Himself is weaving!
Bringing out the world's dark mystery
In the light of Faith and History;
And, as web and woof diminish,
Comes the grand and glorious finish:
When begin the golden ages,
Long foretold by seers and sages.
QUESTIONS.-1. Describe the process of weaving. 2. Who are weaving
For the Master's eye is on us,
Never off us, still upon us,
Night and day!
Work away!
Keep the busy fingers plying,
Keep the ceaseless shuttles flying,
See that never thread lie wrong;
Let not clash or clatter round us,
Sound of whirring wheels, confound us;
For the Leader's eye is on us,
Never off us, still upon us,
Night and day!
Wide the trackless prairies round us,
Dark and unsunned woods surround us,
Steep and savage mountains bound us;
Far away
Smile the soft savannas green,
Rivers sweep and roll between:
Work away!
4. Bring your axes, woodmen true; Smite the forest till the blue
Of heaven's sunny eye looks through
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