The Weaving

My life is but a weaving

Between my God and me;

I may not choose the colours,

He knows what they should be;

For He can view the pattern

Upon the upper side,

While I can see it only

On this, the under side.

Sometimes He weaveth sorrow,

Which seemeth strange to me;

But I will trust His judgement,

And work on faithfully;

‘Tis He who fills the shuttle,

He knows just what is best;

So I shall weave in earnest

And leave Him the rest.

At last, when life is ended,

With Him I shall abide,

Then I may view the pattern

Upon the upper side;

Then I shall know the reason

Why pain with joy entwined

Was woven in the fabric

Of life that God designed.