1
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.
2
My heart is weak and poor until it amaster find;
It has no spring of action sure, it varies with the wind.
It cannot freely move till Thou has wrought its chain;
Enslave it with Thy matchless love, and deathless it shall reign.
3
My will is not my own till Thou hast made it Thine;
If it would reach a 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 its life.
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