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 Savior’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 tears that I cannot shed;
I shall cover my face with my empty hands,
I shall there 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 hast planned.
~Martha Snell Nicholson