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419b Fountain


There is a fountain fill'd with blood,
Drawn from Immanuel's veins;
And sinners, plung'd beneath 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.

Thou dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its pow'r,
Till all the ransom'd church of God
Are sav'd to sin no more.

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