I heard this poem the other day after the passing of a good friend's relative, and just thought it was a very comforting thought, especially for anyone who has lost a loved one:
THE WEAVER
________________________________
Written by B.M. Franklin (1882-1965)
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.
________________________________
Written by B.M. Franklin (1882-1965)
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.
1 comment:
You are so right. And that's a great poem!
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