My life is but a weaving

Between my God and me

I do not choose the colors

Yet He worketh steadily

Of times He weaveth sorrow

and I in foolish pride

forget He sees the upper

and I the underside

Not until the loom is silent

and the shuttles cease to fly

will God unfold the canvas

and explain the reasons why

The dark threads are as needed

in the skillful weavers hands

as the threads of gold and silver

in the pattern He has planned

Title and Author-Unknown