“Then I shall know even as I am known.” 1 Cor. 13.12.
My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me,
I cannot 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
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
Precious thought, our Father knoweth,
Careth for His child;
Bids me nestle closer to Him,
When the storm beats wild.
Well I know the Heart that planneth,
Naught but good for me;
Joy and sorrow interwoven,
Love in all I see.
ML 12/10/1961