The Weaver

I first read this poem about 15 years ago on a Sword of the Lord newspaper. I do not know who the author is, but I love it anyway. I did a Google search and found several versions of this poem. I’m posting the version I know from memory. I pray you’d be blessed!

 

THE WEAVER

My life is 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 ’til the loom is silent

And the shuttles cease to fly

Will God unroll the canvas

And explain the reasons 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

 

Here’s another version posted by Missionary to Zaire/Zambia  Patrick Coleman from sermons.org:

My Life is but a weaving
between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the under side.

Not til the loom 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.

He knows, He loves, He cares,
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives His very best to those
Who leave the choice with Him.

 

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