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 checked Him there
and would not yield my will,
Shall I see grief in my Savior’s eyes;
grief, though He loves me still?
He would have me rich, but I stand there poor,
stripped of all but His grace –
While my memory runs like a hunted thing,
down the paths I can’t retrace.
Then my desolate heart will well nigh break
with tears that I cannot shed.
I’ll cover my face with my empty hands
and bow my uncrowned head.
Now, Lord of the life that’s left to me,
I yield it to Thy hand.
Take me, make me, mold me,
to the pattern Thou hast planned.