AS weavers a good king employed 

Half of his subjects day by day; 

And when the tangled threads annoyed, 

He bade them send for him straightway. 

The patterns and the silk he gave, 

And lovely goods the bright looms made: 

All loved the king, yet strove to save 

Each broken warp without his aid. 

Shrewd men and women, children, too, 

Were busy at the flying looms; 

It was a pleasant sight to view 

Those lustrous silks in sunny rooms! 

Among the workers was a child, 

A wee, pale girl, oft left alone, 

Yet she was ever patient, mild, 

With happy light the blue eyes shone. 

All wondered at her cheerful mein; 

And loved to hear her softly sing, 

While through' the meshes bright and fine, 

Swift as a little wild bird's wing 

Her fingers darted to and fro! 

. . . One day the men were sadly tried, 

Their threads got broke and tangled so; 

Nor could they pattern true, beside. 

And round this cheerful little girl 

They gathered all with quest'ning gaze; 

Why did her spindles constant whirl, 

Nor silk e'er twist in blinding maze? 

"Now tell us, happy little maid," 

A strong man said, with tearful eyes: 

"In trouble, sir, I'm not afraid 

To seek the King so good and wise!" 

"Each morn and night his help we seek!" 

With one voice cried the swelling throng. 

"But I," she said, with blushing cheek, 

"His aiding hand feel all along; 

For when a tiny knot I find, 

That instant I invoke His aid, 

And so the tangles all unwind; 

On Him my ev'ry care is laid! " 

—George Bancroft Griffith.