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.
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 pow’r 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 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 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.
The Cyber Hymnal (http://www.hymntime.com/tch/htm/m/a/k/makecapt.htm)