The Judgment Seat of Christ

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,

Shall I see grief in my Savior’s eyes;

Grief though He loves me still?

Oh, He’d have me rich, and 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.

Lord of the years that are left to me

I yield them to Thy hand.

Take me, make me, mold me

To the pattern Thou hast planned.