Make me a captive, Lord,
And then I shall be free;
Force me to render up my sword,
And I shall conqueror be.
I sink in life’s alarms when by myself I stand;
Imprison me within Thine arms,
And strong shall be my hand.
My heart is weak and poor until it’s Master find;
It has no spring of action sure,
It varies with the wind.
It cannot freely move
Till Thou hast wrought its chain;
Enslave it with Thy matchless love,
And deathless it shall reign.
My power is faint and low
Till I have learned to serve;
It wants the needed fire to glow;
It wants the breeze to nerve;
It cannot drive the world, until itself be driv’n;
Its flag can only be unfurled
When Thou shalt breathe from heav’n.
My will is not my own till Thou hast made it Thine;
If it would reach the monarch’s throne, it must its
crown resign;
It only stands unbent, amid the clashing strife,
When on Thy bosom it has leant and found in Thee
It’s life.