God is a mighty weaver
On those giant tapestries,
Where his shuttles flying swiftly
Weave in our destinies.
And our lives with clouds and sunshine
Are the threads He's working through.
Some are bright with gold and silver,
Others dark and drab in hue.

We do not know what pattern
He is weaving to and fro,
For he sees the brilliant top side;
We, the back, from here below.
Oft' the brightest thread is broken,
And a dark one used instead,
And we wonder why the Weaver
Could have broken just that thread.

But the day will come when we
Have passed the darkness of the tomb;
We'll be standing by the Weaver
Looking downward on the loom.
We will see then how the colors
Have been mingled in with care,
And we'll know why we were given
Days of sadness and despair.

Let us then accept our burdens,
In the Weaver place our trust.
Take both days of joy and sorrow,
For the things he does are just.