Monday, January 18, 2010

The Weaver

I've heard the story, but never seen the poem, until running across it today.


"The Weaver"

My life is just a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaves so skillfully.




Sometimes He weaveth 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 Weaver’s skillful hands
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.

B.M. Franklin (1882-1965)



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