Warp and Woof and Tangle,— Weavers of Webs are we. Living and dying—and mightier dead, For the shuttle, once sped, is sped—is sped;— Weavers of Webs are we.

White, and Black, and Hodden-gray,— Weavers of Webs are we. To every weaver one golden strand Is given in trust by the Master-Hand;— Weavers of Webs are we.

And that we weave, we know not,— Weavers of Webs are we. The threads we see, but the pattern is known To the Master-Weaver alone, alone;— Weavers of Webs are we.