My Life’s a Tapestry...

And yet oh God, You are our Father

We the clay, You the Potter
We are the work of your own hands.

Alas, my life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colours
He works steadily.

Oftentimes He weaves in sorrow
And I in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.

Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Will He unroll the tapestry
And explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needed
In the weavers skilful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern God has planned.