Make me captive, Lord,
And then I shall be free;
Force me to render up my sword,
And I shall conqu'ror be,
I sink in life's alarms
When by myself I stand;
Imprison me within Thine armes,
And strongs 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 hast wrought its chain:
Enslave it with Thy matchless love,
And deathless it shall reign.
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 crushing strife,
When on They bosom it has leant
And found it Thee its life.