My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and Me,
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.

When gray threads mar life’s pattern
And seem so out of line,
Trust the Master Weaver
Who planned the whole design;

For in life’s choicest patterns
Some dark threads must appear
To make the rose threads fairer,
The gold more bright and clear.

The pattern may seem intricate
And hard to understand,
But trust the Master Weaver
And His steady, guiding Hand.

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

Not till the loom is silent
And the shutles 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 thread of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
~Author Unknown~

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© Tina's Prayer Gate
May/2004