The Weaver

My life is but a weaving
between my Lord and me,
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily

Oft time 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 shuttles cease to fly,
shall God unroll the canvas
and reveal the reasons why

The dark threads may be needed
in the skillful weavers hand -
as the threads of gold & silver
in the pattern he has planned

                                 - Unknown -

(Read at my Father's funeral 1957)