The Weaver Poem

1. Just A Weaver
   by Benjamin Malacia Franklin
   
   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 under side.
   
   Not til the loom is silent
   And the shuttles cease to fly,
   Shall God unroll the canvas
   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.
   
   He knows, He loves, He cares,
   Nothing this truth can dim.
   He gives His very best to those
   Who chose to walk with Him.




Poems About God


The poem, Life's Weaving, is very similar to Just A Weaver.
The message is the same, the verses are a bit different but as you read it you will realize the theme is the same


2. Life's Weaving
   Poet: Father Tabb
   
   My life is but a weaving
   Between my God and me;
   I may not choose the colors,
   He knows what they should be;
   For He can view the pattern
   Upon the upper side,
   While I can see it only
   On this, the lower side.
   
   Sometimes He weaveth sorrow,
   Which seemeth strange to me;
   But I will trust His judgment,
   And work on faithfully;
   ’Tis He Who fills the shuttle.
   He knows just what is best,
   So I shall weave in earnest
   And leave with Him the rest.
   
   At last when life is ended,
   With Him I shall abide,
   Then I may view the pattern
   Upon the upper side;
   Then I shall know the reason
   Why pain, with joy entwined.
   Was woven in the fabric
   Of life that God designed.




Heaven Poems


The poem below also has the same theme as Just A Weaver poem.
The words in these verses should make us stop and reflect are we fulfilling our purpose!


3. All The Good We Can
   Poet: Unknown
   
   If the sunshine never crept
   Into hovels dark and sad,
   If its glories never shone
   Save where everything was glad,
   If it scattered not its beams
   Over hearts by sorrow chilled,
   Would the sunshine do His will?
   Would its mission be fulfilled?
   
   If the roses never bloomed,
   Save for gladsome eyes alone,
   If their beauty and their grace
   For the weary never shone,
   If they never brought a smile
   To the way-side passer-by,
   Would the roses do their task
   While the hours of summer fly?
   
   If the sunshine of our smiles
   We have scattered not afar,
   If our roses—kindly deeds—
   Bloom not where the lowly are.
   If our words of hope and joy
   Never fail to bless and cheer,
   Have we done our Maker’s will?
   Have we wrought our mission here?




Poems About Purpose



4. We Each Do Weave
   Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
   
   In the loom of life, we each do weave,
   Moments that bring joy or make us grieve.
   Every choice we make, a thread so bright,
   Will determine if darkness or if light.
   
   Weave threads of kindness, love, and grace,
   Helping to make this world a better place.
   The threads of courage, strong and true,
   Will see you through, whatever you pursue,
   
   So, weave with joy, and hope, while on this earth
   Creating a canvas of endless worth.




Poems Of Encouragement


Our lives could be compared to a loom, each day weaving our story.
What story are you weaving in your life?


5. The Loom Of Life
   Poet: Eben E. Rexford
   
   All day, all night, I can hear the jar
   Of the loom of life, — and near and far
   It thrills with its deep and muffled sound,
   As the tireless wheels go always ’round.
   
   Busily, ceaselessly, goes the loom,
   In the light of day, and the midnight’s gloom;
   The wheels are turning early and late,
   And the woof is wound in the warp of fate.
   
   Click, click! there’s a thread of love wove in;
   Click, click! another of wrong and sin.
   What a checkered thing will this life be
   When we see it unrolled in eternity!
   
   Time, with a face like mystery,
   And hands as busy as hands can be,
   Sits at the loom with its arm outspread,
   To catch in its meshes each glancing thread.
   
   When shall this wonderful web be done?
   In a thousand years, perhaps, or one;
   Or to-morrow. Who knoweth? Not you nor I!
   But the wheels turn on, and the shuttles fly.
   
   Are we spinners of wool for this life-web, — say?
   Do we furnish the weaver a thread each day?
   It were better, then, oh, my friend, to spin
   A beautiful thread than a thread of sin.
   
   Ah, sad-eyed weaver, the years are slow,
   But each one is nearer the end, I know:
   Some day the last thread shall be woven in, -
   God grant it be love instead of sin!




Train Of Life Poem


Never think you are not included in God's plan.
Never think that what you do and how you live does not make a difference.
God has a plan for each and every one of our lives. May the poem below remind you of this!


6. A Single Stitch
   Poet: Susan Coolidge
   
   One stitch dropped as the weaver drove
   His nimble shuttle to and fro,
   In and out, beneath, above,
   Till the pattern seemed to bud and grow
   As if the fairies had helping been;
   One small stitch which could scarce be seen,
   But the one stitch dropped pulled the next stitch out,
   And a weak place grew in the fabric stout;
   And the perfect pattern was marred for aye
   By the one small stitch that was dropped that day.
   
   One small life in God's great plan,
   How futile it seems as the ages roll,
   Do what it may or strive how it can
   To alter the sweep of the infinite whole!
   A single stitch in an endless web,
   A drop in the ocean's flood and ebb!
   But the pattern is rent where the stitch is lost,
   Or marred where the tangled threads have crossed;
   And each life that fails of its true intent
   Mars the perfect plan that its Master meant.




Inspirational God Quotes



7. Weave In The Web Of Life
   Poet: Unknown
   
   Better to weave in the web of life
   A bright and golden filling,
   And to do God's will with a ready heart,
   And hands that are ready and willing,
   Than to snap the delicate, minute threads
   Of our curious lives asunder.
   And then blame Heaven for the tangled ends,
   And sit and grieve and wonder.