Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WEAVER, by WILLIAM HENRY BURLEIGH



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THE WEAVER, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Ceaselessly the weaver, time
Last Line: As he weaves our web of doom.
Subject(s): Religion; Theology


CEASELESSLY the weaver, Time,
Sitting at his mystic loom,
Keeps his arrowy shuttle flying;
Every thread anears our dying --
And, with melancholy chime,
Very low and sad withal,
Sings his solemn madrigal
As he weaves our web of doom.

"Mortals!" thus he, weaving, sings,
"Bright or dark the web shall be,
As ye will it; all the tissues
Blending in harmonious issues,
Or discordant colorings;
Time the shuttle drives; but you
Give to every thread its hue,
And elect your destiny.

"God bestowed the shining warp,
Fill it with as bright a woof;
And the whole shall glow divinely,
As if wrought by angels finely,
To the music of the harp,
And the blended colors be
Like perfected harmony,
Keeping evil things aloof.

"Envy, malice, pride, and hate --
Foulest progeny of sin --
Let not these the weft entangle,
With their blind and furious wrangle,
Marring your diviner fate;
But with love and deeds of good
Be the web throughout endued,
And the perfect ye shall win."

Thus he singeth very low,
Sitting at his mystic loom;
And his shuttle still is flying --
Thread by thread anears our dying,
Grows our shroud by every throw;
And the hues of woe or heaven
To each thread by us are given,
As he weaves our web of doom.





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