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, rejoic'd to see
This fountain in his day,
And here may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away.
Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
Shall never loose it's pow'r,
Till all the ransom'd church of God
Be sav'd to sin no more.