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
Till
it a 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.
3
My
will is not my own
Till
Thou has 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.