As I was growing up, I remember a poem hung beside our back entrance. I would read it now and then and think how profound the message was. Recently my parents renovated their upstairs, and the poem disappeared. I asked Mom to help me find it so that I could have it in my own home for my children to read as they grow.
I'd like to share it here also.
The Divine Weaver
Author Unknown
My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me:
I cannot choose the colours
He worketh steadily.
Oftimes he weaveth sorrow
And I in foolish pride,
Forget He seeth the upper,
And I the under side.
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment