THE WEAVING

My life is but a weaving between my Lord and me:

I did not 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.


But when the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly,

Then He’ll unroll the weaving 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!

                                                       By Ray Prinzing