When I stand at the judgment seat of Christ,

And He shows me His plan for me,

The plan of my life as it might have been,

Had He had His way and I see,

How I blocked Him here, and I checked Him there,

And I would not yield my will-

Will there be grief in my Saviour's eyes,

Grief though He loves me still?

He would have me rich, and I stand there poor,

Stripped of all but His grace,

While memory runs like a hunted thing,

Down the paths I cannot retrace

Then my desolate heart will well-nigh break,

With the tears that I cannot shed;

I shall cover my face with my empty hands,

I shall bow my uncrowned head....

Lord, of the years that are left to me,

I give them to Thy hand;

Take me and break me, mould me to,

The pattern Thou hast planned!