My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me;
I may not choose the colors,
He knows what they should be
For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side,
While I can see it only
On this, the under side.
Sometimes He weaveth sorrow
Which seemth strange to me;
But I will trust His judgment;
And work on faithfully;
'Tis He who fills the shuttle
He knows just what is best;
So I shall weave in earnest
And leave with Him the rest.
At last, when life is ended,
With Him I shall abide
Then I may veiw the pattern
Upon the upper side;
Then I shall know the reason
Why pain with joy entwined,
Was woven in the fabric
Of life that God designed.
--Anon.
