The Weaver

~~~

My life is but a weaving
Between the Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors;
He worketh steadily.

Oftimes He weaveth sorrow
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the underside.

Not 'til the loom is silent
and the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God unroll the canvas
and explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver's skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and
silver
In the pattern He has planned.

~~~

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