The Weaver

I came across this poem in an old Elisabeth Elliot Newsletter about suffering and joy. Corrie Ten Boom often quoted it and quoted it to her in an interview. I think it's worthy of memorizing and may be a new favorite next to "Hast thou no Scar?"

The Weaver
by Grant Colfax Tuller (1869-1950)

My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.
Oft' times He weaveth sorrow;
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the underside.
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 choose to walk with Him.