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Weavers All

   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.
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