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 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 crashing strife,
When on Thy bosom it has leaned,
And found in Thee its life.

 

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