There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawn from Immanuel's veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.
Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood,
Shall never lose it's pow'r,
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.
Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I'll sing Thy pow'r to save,
When this poor lisping, stamm'ring tongue
Lies silent in the grave.