
Our lives are but fine weavings 
    That God and we prepare, 
    Each life becomes a fabric planned 
  And fashioned in his care . . .
We may not always see just how 
    The weavings intertwine, 
    But we must trust the Master's hand 
    And follow His design,
For he can view the pattern 
    Upon the upper side, 
    While we must look from underneath 
    And trust in Him to guide.
Sometimes a strand of sorrow 
    Is added to His plan, 
    And though it's difficult for us, 
    We still must understand
That it's He who flies the shuttle, 
    It's He who knows what's best, 
    So we must weave in patience 
    And leave to Him the rest . . .
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 needed 
    In the Weaver's skillful hand 
    As the threads of gold and silver 
    In the pattern He has planned.