G. Matheson


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 hast 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 wants the needed fire to glow,

It wants 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 the 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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