Lord
The Tapestry
My life is weaving between my Lord and me;
I can not choose the colors he worketh steadily.
Oftentimes, he weaveth sorrow, and I, in foolish pride,
Forget he sees the upper and I the underside.
Not ’til the loom is silent, and the shuttles cease to fly.
Shall God unroll the canvas and explain why?
The dark threads are as needful in the Weaver’s skillful hands
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern, He has planned.



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