John Newton & William Cowper · 51 of 356
50. For mercies, countless as the sands
Hymn 50
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 shall owe him most.