1 Weaver divine, thy matchless skill
Hath planned the pattern of my ways;
Within the fabric of thy will
I yield my residue of days.
I dwell in thy abiding care,
And find my soul’s refreshment there;
Content to trust my way to thee
Thy over-ruling plan I see.
2 Sombre the colours are and gay,
Varied the workings of thy hand;
I would not wish to know the way,
Nor seek thy will to understand.
3 Human design may cause me pain,
And test my faith through doubt and fear,
Grant me to feel thy touch again,
Thy reassuring voice to hear.
4 Christ of the loom, thy loving hand
Doth thread the pattern for my good;
I too would weave at thy command
Until thy will be understood.
Source: The Song Book of the Salvation Army #644