Ask God to give thee skill
In comfort's art,
That thou may'st consecrated be
And set apart,
Unto a life of sympathy;
For heavy is the weight of ill
In every heart;
And comforters are needed much
Of Christlike touch.
I have seen this poem many times before and most likely even shared it with all of you. Yet, there is something about it that one cannot deny. We don't tire of it's message and if you are like me, it seems brand new every time I read it. Enjoy.
The Weaver
By: B.M. Franklin
My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me.
I cannot choose the colors
As He weaveth steadily.
Sometimes He chooses dark threads
And I in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper
And I the under side.
Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvass
And explain 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
Have a blessed day everyone.
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