The Tapestry
My life is but a weaving,
Between my God and me.
God chooses the colors,
We work steadily.
He sometimes weaves sorrow.
And I in foolish pride,
Forgets He sees the upper,
And I the under side.
Not until the loom is silent,
And the fibers cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas,
And tell the reasons why.
The dark threads are as needful,
In the skillful workers hands,
As the threads of gold and silver,
In the pattern He has planned.
Author – Traveling Preacher in Florida
at the turn of the 20th century.
at the turn of the 20th century.
As told by Mary Frances Turner to her daughter
and grandchildren,
and great grandchildren
and great great grandchildren
and grandchildren,
and great grandchildren
and great great grandchildren
(A few of whom are pictured above)
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