Audrey Assad - New Every Morning Lyrics
Lyrics
In the beginning, you hovered over the water
You broke an unbroken silence
You spoke light into darkness
And there was light
In the beginning, we were made in your image
And we were naked without shame
Till we fell for the darkness
And there was night
Your mercies are new
Your mercies are new
New every morning
Your mercies are new
Your mercies are new
New every morning
In the beginning, there was the Word and he was God
And the Word was with God
And he dwelt among us
And there was life
Oh, in the beginning, the Lamb of God was broken
And his blood was poured out
For the sins of the world
And there was life
Your mercies are new
Your mercies are new
New every morning
Your mercies are new
Your mercies are new
New every morning
Your mercies are new
Your mercies are new
New every morning
Your mercies are new
Your mercies are new
New every morning
At the cross, at the cross
Where I first saw your light
At the cross, at the cross
I received my sight
At the cross, at the cross
Where you laid down your life
Your mercies are new
Your mercies are new
New every morning
Your mercies are new
Your mercies are new
New every morning
Your mercies are new
Your mercies are new
New every morning
Your mercies are new
Your mercies are new
New every morning
Video
New Every Morning - Audrey Assad
Meaning & Inspiration
Audrey Assad’s approach on Inheritance leans heavily into the liturgical roots of the church, pulling away from the punchy, radio-ready production that defines most modern contemporary worship. When she sings, "You broke an unbroken silence / You spoke light into darkness / And there was light," there’s a quietude that feels almost archaic. It isn't trying to capture the energy of a festival stage; it’s trying to inhabit a cathedral, or perhaps the space inside a person who has run out of ways to talk to God.
The language Assad chooses here—specifically the nod to Genesis 1:2—is calculated to pull the listener out of their immediate, frantic reality and place them in a grander, slower history. By grounding the track in the cosmic origin of the Word, she creates a stark contrast to the way we usually treat worship music: as a utility for managing our own anxieties. When she anchors the song with, "Your mercies are new / New every morning," she’s taking a line from Lamentations 3:23 and treating it not as a comfortable slogan, but as a survival mechanism.
What strikes me is the specific choice to weave in the old Isaac Watts hymn, "At the Cross." It’s an odd inclusion for an artist who usually dwells in indie-folk sensibilities. In the context of 2016, a year where the American church felt increasingly fractured, bringing back these centuries-old lyrics feels like an attempt to find a common language. Does the message get lost in the vibe? Maybe, if you’re just looking for background noise. But if you’re actually listening, the tension between the "unbroken silence" of the beginning and the visceral reality of "the Lamb of God was broken" creates a jarring shift. It’s an reminder that the peace we’re looking for came at a violent price.
There’s a vulnerability in how she repeats the refrain. By the time the song hits its final chorus, the phrase "Your mercies are new" starts to sound less like a declarative truth and more like a desperate, rhythmic prayer—the kind you whisper when you aren't sure you believe it, but you need to hear it again.
It leaves me wondering: if we strip away the production, if we let the music be this stripped-back and stark, are we actually prepared for the weight of those ancient words? It’s easy to sing about light in the darkness when the melody is soft, but it’s harder to reckon with the "naked without shame" honesty that the song demands. It doesn’t solve the problem of our existence, and it doesn’t try to. It just keeps repeating the promise, hoping that maybe, by the end of the track, we’ve finally let it sink in.