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 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 can not freely move Till Thou has wrought its chain; Enslave it with Thy matchless love, And deathless it shall reign. My pow'r is faint and love 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 driv'n; Its flag can only be unfurled When Thou shalt breathe from heav'n. My will is not my own Till Thou hast made it Thine; If it would reach the monarch's throne It must it crown resign: It only stands unbent, Amid the clashing strife, When on thy Bosom it has leaned, And found in Thee its life.