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!