For mercies countless as the sands

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 acknowledgment I’ll make,

For all He has bestowed –

Salvation’s sacred cup I’ll take,

And call upon my God.

The best returns 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 should owe Him most.