For mercies, countless as the sands,

Which I daily 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 stain’d and dyed with sin

My all is nothing worth.

Yet this acknowledgement I’ll make

For all He has bestow’d

Salvation’s sacred cup I’ll take,

I’ll 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.