For mercies countless as the sands
Which daily I receive
From Jesus, my Redeemer’s hands,
My soul, what canst thou give?

2 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.

3 Yet this acknowledgment I’ll make
For all He has bestowed?
Salvation’s sacred cup I’ll take,
And call upon my God.

4 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.

5 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.