Swiftly and surely comes the day
When I shall keep a tryst.
The focal point of all my life —
The judgment seat of Christ.
Shall I approach that throne with dread,
With fear and stark dismay?
What will confront me, what be read
About me on that day?
I shall not stand a prisoner
Who waits with bated breath
To bear the sentence of the Judge,
If it be life or death —
All this was settled long ago.
But rather I shall stand
A servant, waiting judgment on
The work of heart and hand;
Those works in which my soul took pride
May there be judged as hay
And burned as chaff and stubble on
That all-revealing day.
Oh may there be some little deed,
Some word for Him I said;
Some work the SPIRIT energized,
Some earnest prayer I prayed;
Something entirely free from self,
Or hope of gain, or pride.
Works done for love of Him alone —
These only shall abide.
How would I feel if I should have
No crown of gold to give,
To lay before the feet of Him
Who died that I might live?
May I live my remaining days
Remembering that tryst
Which I must keep with Him before
The judgment seat of Christ!