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I do not choose the colors He weaveth steadily, Oft times He weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride Forget He sees the upper, and I the underside. Not 'til the loom is silent and shuttles cease to fly will God unfurl the canvas and reveal the reason why The dark threads were as needful in the master's skillful hand as the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.
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