Classic Poem

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 Saviour's eyes,
Grief, though He loves me still?
He would have made 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 the tears that I cannot shed;
I shall cover my face with my empty hands,
I shall bow my uncrowned head.
Lord, of the years that are left me,
I give them to Thy hand:
Take me and break me, mould me to
The pattern Thou hast planned.