The Weaver
My life is but a weaving between my God and me,
I can not choose the colors He worketh steadily.
Ofttimes He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride,
forget that He seeth the upper, and I the underside.
Not till the loam is silent and the shuttles 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.
~Al Bryant
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