We bring our labor, thinking life is earned, As though God’s love were wages for our toil; Yet every path of striving leaves us burned, And every proud endeavor turns to spoil. For grace is gift—no coin can pay its worth, No deed can buy the mercy God will give; He calls the thirsty hearts of all the earth, And teaches them what it means to live. Works build the walls we hide behind in fear, But grace breaks through and bids the soul to rest; It lifts the burden we have carried near, And clothes the poor in robes of righteousness. So come with empty hands, for God is kind— His grace is wealth no striving heart can find.
