The Tangled Web "Oh, what a tangled web we weave,"
her grandma used to say,
"when first we practice to deceive."
She learned it as a child at play. Now she sees the spinners in the dark
who whisper, lie, and creep,
who weave their silver traps by night
while honest people sleep. They thought her soft, they thought her weak,
a moth caught in the thread;
they never saw the rising dawn,
the lantern overhead. For every strand they spun in shade
is counted, one by one,
and every web, however wide,
will tremble in the sun. Hear the silk begin to snap,
a low and creaking sound;
the spider's kingdom sways and shakes,
then tumbles to the ground. The One who knows them all by name
has kept the record true,
and the hand that holds His daughter close
is reaching now for you.