That He shouldst come from heav'n above,
What can be sung of such free grace?
Is there aught to phrase that love
That made Jesus take our place?

Feeble, frail and feckless, I;
No virtue can be found in me.
How wondrous then, that Thou shouldst die
To reconcile myself to Thee.

For He so loved us, to atone
He suffered, bled and died for all.
He hung upon the cross alone
And ended then Death's dreaded thrall.

Feeble, frail and feckless, I;
Born in darkness and in sin.
Unlovely, still Thou chose to buy
With blood my evil heart to win.

That He shouldst rob Death of its sting
And triumph, saying, "It is done."
Now we may all in gladness sing,
Through Him our battles will be won.

Feeble, frail and feckless, I;
Unworthy, this I'll ever be.
Yet Thou knowest each tear I cry
And bids me cast my cares on Thee.

He gave a promise to return
And bring us home to live on high.
Through our trials He helps us learn;
Now to live is Christ, and gain to die.

Feeble, frail and feckless, I;
But undiminished Thy arm's length.
Thy grace sufficeth as I pass by,
In my weakness, perfect Thy strength.