THE WEAVER

My life is but a weaving,
Between the Lord and me;
I may not choose the colors,
He knows what they should be!

For He can see the pattern
Upon the upper side,
While I can see it only,
On this, the under side.

Sometimes He weaves illness,
Which seems so strange to me,
But I shall trust His judgment,
And work on faithfully.

Tis He who fills the shuttle,
He knows just what is best.
So I shall weave it in earnest,
And leave with Him the rest!

Not till 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 are the threads of gold and silver,
In the pattern He has planned.

 Author Unknown