FOR mercies countless as the sands, Which daily I receive From Jesus my Redeemer’s hands, My soul, what will you 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 acknowledgement I’ll make For all He has bestowed; Salvation’s sacred cup I’ll take, And 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 should owe Him most.
John Newton, 1725-1807