The Weaver

During Sunday tea, Des and Chris were trying hard to recall this poem about God weaving a tapestry.

Guys, I think the poem you were talking about, is the one below:

 

 

My life is but a weaving

Between my Lord and me

I cannot choose the colours

He works so steadily

 

Oft' times He weaves in sorrow

And I, in foolish pride,

Forget He sees the upper

And I, the underside

 

The dark threads are as needed

In the weaver's skilful hand

As the thread of gold and silver

In the pattern He has planned

 

Not till the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly

Will God unroll the canvas

And explain the reason why

 

- kristone -