A POEM (UNKNOWN)

Lebanon, Ohio, Jan. 1, 1902

Dear Brother Beebe: - Inclosed I am sending you a copy of the Poem from which I quoted in an article in the "Signs" of some time ago I have had some inquiries about it, so I will send it for publication. It is in my destination a rare poem indeed.
Yours in the truth,
H. M. CURRY

See the mystic weaver sitting

High in heaven, his loom below;

Up and down the treadles go,

Takes for web the world's dark ages,

Takes for woof the kings and sages,

Takes the nobles and their Pages,

Takes all stations and all stages'

Thrones are bobbins in his shuttle,

Armies make them scud and scuttle;

Web into the woof must flow.

Up and down the nations go;

At the weaver's will they go'

Calmly see the mystic weaver

Throw his shuttle to and fro;

'Mid the noise and wild confusion,

Well the weaver seems to know

What each motion and commotion,

What each fusion and confusion

In the grand result will show.

(Glorious wonder, what a weaving.

for the dull beyond believing;

Such no fabled ages know.

Only faith can see the mystery.

How along the aisles of history,

Where the feet of sages go;

Loveliest to the fairest eyes,

Grand the mystic tapet lies.

Soft and smooth and ever-spreading,

As if made for angels' treading'

Tufted circles touching ever;

Every figure has its plaidings,

Brighter forms and softer shadings ;

Eaòh illumined, what a riddle,

From a cross that gems the middle

'Tis a saying, some reject it,

That its light is all reflected,

That the tapets lines are given

By a sun that shines in heaven'

'Tis, believed by all believing,

That great God himself is weaving,

Bringing out the world's dark mystery

In the light of faith and history;

And as web and woof diminish,

Comes the grand and glorious finish,

When begin the golden ages

Long foretold by seers and sages.