There is A Fountain filled with blood
Drawn from Immanuel's veins
And sinners plunged into that flood
Lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day
O may I there, though vile as he
Wash all my sins away

Dear dying Lamb, thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power
Till all the ransomed church of God
Be saved to sin no more

E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply
Redeeming love has been my theme
And shall be till I die.

And when this lisping, stam'ring tongue
Lies silent in the grave
Then, in a nobler, sweeter song
I'll sing thy power to save.

Lord, I believe thou hast prepared
Unworthy though I be
For me a glorious free reward
A golden harp for me.

Tis strung and tuned for endless years
And formed by pow'r divine
To sound in God the Father's ears.
No other name but thine.

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