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_.




THE CLEARER VISION


When, with bowed head,
And silent-streaming tears,
With mingled hopes and fears,
To earth we yield our dead;
The Saints, with clearer sight,
Do cry in glad accord,--
"_A soul released from prison
Is risen, is risen,--