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 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, but I stand there poor
Stripped of all but His grace.
While memory runs like a haunting thing
Down the path I cannot retrace.
Then my desolate heart will well-nigh break
With tears that I shall shed.
I shall cover my face with my empty hands
And bow my uncrowned head.
Lord, of the years that are left to me,
I give them to thy hand.
TAKE. ME and BREAK ME, MOLD ME, to
THE PATTERN Thou bast planned.