The Weaver

8 04 2010

My life is but a weaving betwixt the Lord and me.

I do not choose the colour – He worketh steadily.

Ofttimes He weaveth sorrow and I in foolish pride,

Forget He sees the upper, and I the underside.

Not till the loom is silent, and the shuttle 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 threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

Grant Colfax Tullar

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