My Life is but a weaving
between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colours
He worketh steadily.
Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the under side.
Not til 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.
He knows, He loves, He cares,
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives His very best to those
Who leave the choice with Him.
Author Unknown
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Correction:
This poem was often quoted by Corrie ten Boom, but the author was by Grant Colfax Tullar (1869-1950).
Hi thank you, I left it as author unknown as I didn’t Know. God bless