When I stand before the throne,
Clad in beauty, not my own,
Then Lord shall I fully know,
Not til then how much I owe.
When I stand at the judgment 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?
He would have me rich, but I stand there poor,
Robbed of all but His grace;
While my 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, break me, and mould me,
To the pattern Thou hast planned.