THIS PAGE WAS CREATED BY CONSHEBA

 

My life is but a weaving between the Lord and me,
I cannot choose the colors he worketh steadily,
 
 
 

Offtimes He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper, and I the lower side,
 
 

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 the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

~  Author unknown  ~