  (illuminated capital) How swiftly flies man’s mortal thread Within the mighty loom of Time; What brilliant hues on some are shed, While some are stained with woe or crime! But they bright webs are weaving, Who, trusting and believing, Through scenes of sorrow, scenes of joy, God’s grace are still receiving. ’Tis thus the Christian we behold In sickness and in want resigned, Because religion’s thread of gold Is in his gloomy lot entwined. A bright web he is weaving When, trusting and believing, He from a loving Father’s hand Each trial is receiving. Death soon will break our thread in twain, Time’s busy loom itself must rest; Nought but a winding-sheet remain Of all that mortals here possest. Then every trial leaving, No more o’er sorrows grieving, How blest the Christian, from his Lord The crown of life receiving! |
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