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 mas­ter 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.

My pow­er is faint and low
Till I have learned to serve;
It lacks the need­ed fire to glow,
It lacks 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 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.