When I stand at the judgement seat of Christ

And He shows 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 I would not yield my will,

Will there be grief in my Saviour’s eyes,

Grief though He loves me still?

Would He 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.

Lord, of the years that are left to me,

I give them to Thy hand;

Take me and break me and mold me,

To the pattern that Thou has planned.