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