My life is but a weaving, between my God and me,
I do not choose the colours, He worketh steadily,
Of 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 shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful in the skillful Weaver's hand,
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.
I do not choose the colours, He worketh steadily,
Of 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 shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful in the skillful Weaver's hand,
As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.
(Anonymous)
9 comments:
:D beautiful...
wow john. thats amazing!!!
Okay John. I commented - now you have to do another post. (Nice poem by the way).
Hi John
cool poem, hows the barn comin'?
Quad back yet?
You have to post again?
Sincerely?
Benjamin DeVisser?
Hello everyone!Pigpen here
(to John
Post! you dynamite loaded pig' post!)
With "love"(I was being sarcastic.)
Benjamin DeVisser.
I'm with Benjamin. Post again, or I shall quit checking - except maybe every year or so . . . which seems about right.
Your french teacher.
Un autre poste s'il vous plait? Peut-etre demain? Je veux voir quelque chose tres bien. Merci
John, Get with the program. Start posting.
Becca
haha, guess he got the message.
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