run, with its strange mixing and blending, shadings and tints, is of His weaving. He sits at life’s loom ever watching and weaving. Were He but recognized oftener and His hand allowed to guide the skein, how different the weaving! “Children of yesterday, Heirs of to-morrow, What are you weaving— Labor and sorrow? Look to your looms again; Faster and faster Fly the great shuttles Prepared by the Master. Life’s in the loom, Room for it—room! “Children of yesterday, Heirs of to-morrow, Lighten