The shuttle passed from side to side,
From right to left, from left to right,
Each thread into its place was tied.
The weaver’s reed smote it with might
Soon one could see the cloth appear
And what the weaver did design.
The sound of weaving smote the ear
And told that the work was going fine.
But slowly, slowly, thread by thread
The web of cloth grew inch by inch.
By the fast moving shuttle fed,
The weavers reed each thread would clinch.
The weaver sat day after day
And zteadily the great web grew
‘Til every thread in place did lay
The weaver smiled his work was through.
Weaving on farms could still be seen
As late as sixty years ago.
Then weaving passed to the machine
Hand weaving cumbrous is, and slow.
Did you e’er see a family loom?
I t was a piece of furniture
To occupy a large sized room
And built that it might endure.
The threads of which the warp is made
About a rolling beam were wound
All evenly about it laid.
Weights checked the beam in turning round.
Under and over lease rods two
Alternately the threads did feed.
Then through the healds, a harness true,
In pairs they pierced the weaver’s reed.
The threads were finally made fast
To a cloth roller. Threadles moved
The healds at will, a shed to cast,
Which for the shuttle a way proved.
With loaded shuttle in one hand,
And all the treadles in control,
The weaver was in full command
And was prepared the warp to roll.