For mercies, countless as the sands, Which daily I receive

Psalms_62-1: Truly my soul waiteth upon God: from him cometh my salvation

Psalms_62-1: Truly my soul waiteth upon God: from him cometh my salvation

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 return for one like me,

So wretched and so poor,

Is from His gifts to draw a plea,

And ask Him still for more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

1 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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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