My life is like a weaving
between my God and me.
I do not choose the colors
He works steadily.

Sometimes He weaves sorrow
and I in foolish pride
forget He sees the upper,
and I the underside.

Not till the loom is silent
and the shuttle cease to fly
will God unroll the canvas
and explain the reason why

The dark threads are as needful
in the skillful weaver's hand
as the threads of gold and silver
in the pattern He has planned

He knows, He loves, He cares;

Nothing this truth can dim.

He gives the very best to those

Who leave the choice to Him!