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 checked Him there
And I would not yield my will,
Shall I see grief in my Savior's eyes;
Grief though He loves me still?

Oh, He'd have me rich, and I stand there poor,
Stripped of all but His grace,
While my memory runs like a hunted thing
Down the paths I can't retrace.