THE WEAVERS
Reading edition
Ruthlessly a weaver’s hands Seized life’s silken threads and fair, Rent, defiled the spotless strands,— Wove a texture of Despair. Men then cursed and called it Fate; But the weaver’s name was—Hate. Prayerfully a weaver toiled,— Seeing only what God meant,— And from ends all frayed and soiled, Wove a fabric of Content. Hearts were lifted then above; For the weaver’s name was—Love.