Master Weaver

My life is but a weaving
Between the Lord and me;
I may not choose the colours,
He knows what they should be;
For he can view the pattern
Upon the upper side
While I can see it only
On this, the under side.
Sometimes He weaveth sorrow,
Which seemeth strange to me;
But I will trust His judgment,
And work on faithfully;
‘Tis He who fills the shuttle,
And He knows what is best;
So I shall weave in earnest,
Leaving for 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 needed
In the Weaver’s skilful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.