My Life is But a Weaving

By Corrie Ten Boom

My life is but a weaving
between my God and me;
I cannot choose the colors,
He weaveth steadily.
Oft' times He weaveth sorrow;
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the under side.
Not 'til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal 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.
He knows, He loves, He cares;
Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those
who leave the choice to Him.