Make me a captive, Lord,

And then I shall be free;

Force me to render up my sword,

And I shall conq'ror be.

I sink in life's alarms

When by myself I stand,

Imprison me within Thy arms,

And strong shall be my hand.

My heart is weak and poor

Until it master find:

It has not 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 driven;

Its flag can only be unfurled

When Thou shalt breathe from heaven.

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 its life.