The Weaver                          

My Life is but a weaving Between my Lord and me  I can not  choose the colors He worketh steadily.  Oft times He weaveth sorrow and I, in foolish pride Forget He sees the upper, and I the underside.  Not till the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly  Does God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why – The dark threads are as needful In the skilful weaver’s hand  As the threads of gold and silver In the pattern He has planned…

  Author Unknown