The Little Weaver by M. A. Davis

Pacific Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Oakland, California · Nov 1, 1877

The Little Weaver.

By M. A. Davis

At a great sacrifice, a little maiden was once rescued from cruel bondage by a noble and powerful king. Many others had been ransomed in like manner, and the monarch extended to them all an invitation to unite in a grand jubilee to celebrate their liberation.

These captives wrought at the loom, and the king bade each weave a beautiful robe to wear at the great feast. If the work was faithfully performed, he promised to receive them into his own palace, as members of the royal family.

Filled with love and gratitude to her deliverer, the little maiden eagerly began her task. Day after day, the shuttle flew swiftly to and fro, weaving, in a pure white groundwork, beautiful figures of bright blue and shining gold.

As time passed on, she grew weary; the syren’s song fell sweetly on her ear, and soon she left her toil to join the giddy throng worshiping at pleasure’s shrine. But she found their fair exterior covering oft an aching heart; sharp, cruel thorns were hidden ’neath the roses wreathed around her brow, and the silver-hued illusions vanished from her grasp. Then she remembered him who had redeemed her at so great a price and turned back to her task again. Alas! an enemy had been at work. There were dark stains on the white groundwork, and the golden threads were tarnished. With bitter tears of penitence she confessed her wanderings and hastened to the fountain where the soiled fabric might be made pure once more. No longer could the gayety around attract her notice, for beyond the distant hills her fancy saw the sunlight gleaming on the palace-walls, and with new courage she plied the shuttle.

Sometimes her cunning foe would steal the golden thread and substitute a false tinsel, but it was detected by the test—the precious guide book which the king had given—and she carefully removed it, for a single thread would mar the garment and bar her forever from her promised home.

In every time of need the king provided help, and still she persevered. Others who had dropped their shuttles, now resumed them, once more sought the golden thread, and washed their defiled garments in the all-cleansing fountain. A few of the gay revelers, attracted by her glad songs and cheering words of the bright land afar, turned from their folly and joined her in the service of the master.

At last the work was done. The king, with all his retinue, came to receive his faithful servants. With joy, and yet in fear, the maiden went to meet him. Deeply she felt her own unworthiness, and timidly advancing fell at his feet as he received the fabric she had wrought. He gazed with loving tenderness on the bowed form before him, and gently bade her rise again; “Thou hast done well the work which I commanded, and behold, I have received thee;” then he passed his hand over the garment, and the tears that had fallen here and there became pure, shining pearls.

Throwing over it a transparent, silvery covering of dazzling brightness, he cast the robe around her, placed in her hand a harp, and on her brow a glittering crown, where, for every one whom she had led to serve the king, a star shone now.

Oh! pen may not describe, or artist picture, the beauty of that land which was to be the home of the redeemed; and as they reached its shining portals, the king himself threw back the palace gates and bade them enter in, amid the glories there, to dwell forevermore.

Dear reader, this is no fancy sketch. We are all working at the loom. Let us weave, for our robe of character, the spotless white of purity, the clear, bright blue of truth, and the golden thread of love to God and man. Let us beware of the tinsel of selfishness, for it can never enter the holy City. Only a character formed by a life of faithful obedience to God and cleansed by the atoning blood of Christ, can receive that glorious covering—His righteousness.—M. A. Davis.