Our lives are but fine weavings
That God and we prepare,
Each life becomes a fabric planned
And fashioned in his care . . .
We may not always see just how
The weavings intertwine,
But we must trust the Master's hand
And follow His design,
For he can view the pattern
Upon the upper side,
While we must look from underneath
And trust in Him to guide.
Sometimes a strand of sorrow
Is added to His plan,
And though it's difficult for us,
We still must understand
That it's He who flies the shuttle,
It's He who knows what's best,
So we must weave in patience
And leave to Him the rest . . .
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why ÐÐ
The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.