10 The Weaver

10 The Weaver

The Weaver

My Life is but a weaving between my Lord and me;

I cannot choose the colours he worketh steadily.

 

Oftentimes he weaveth sorrow and I in foolish pride,

Forget that he seeth the upper, and I the under 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 skilful hand,

As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern he has planned.