For mercies, countless as the sands
Which daily I receive
From Jesus, my Redeemer’s hands,
My soul, what canst thou give?
Alas! from such a heart as mine,
What can I bring Him forth?
My best is stained and dyed with sin,
My all is nothing worth.
Yet this acknowledgement I’ll make
For all He has bestowed;
Salvation’s sacred cup I’ll take,
And call upon my God.
The best return for one like me,
So wretched and so poor;
Is from His gifts to draw a plea,
And ask Him still for more.
I cannot serve him as I ought,
No works have I to boast;
Yet would I glory in the thought
That I shall owe Him most.