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 power 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 driven; Its flag can only be unfurled when Thou shalt breathe from heaven.
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.
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