My life is but a weaving

Between my God and me;

I may not choose the colors,

He knows what they should be.

For He can view the pattern

Upon the upper side,

While I can see it only

On this the underside.

Sometimes He weaveth sorrow

Which seemeth strange to me;

But I will trust His judgment,

And work on faithfully.

T’is He who fills the shuttle,

He knows just what is best;

So I shall weave in earnest,

And leave with Him the rest.

At last when life is ended.

With Him I shall abide;

Then I will view the pattern

Upon the upper side.

Then I shall know the reason

Why pain with joy entwined

Was woven in the fabric

Of life that God designed.

Originally Published in: Standard Bearer, September 1934