1 Make me a 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 arms,
and strong shall be my hand.

2 My heart is weak and poor
until it master find;
it has no spring of action sure--
it varies with the wind;
it cannot freeely move till thou hast wrought its chain;
enslave it with thy matchless love,
and deathless it shall reign.

3 My pow'r is faint and low
till I have larned to serve;
if 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.

4 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 I have leaned
and found in thee my life.