Sunday, February 6, 2011

The Weaver's Hand... author unknown

My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me,
I cannot choose the colors
he worketh steadily.
Ofttimes he weaveth sorrow,
And I in foolish pride
Forget he sees the upper
And I, the underside.

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.

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