There is a fountain filled with blood

Drawn from Immanuel’s veins;

And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,

Lose all their guilty stains.

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 power to save,

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue

Lies silent in the grave.

Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared,

Unworthy though I be,

For me a blood-bought free reward,

A golden harp for me.

'Tis strung and tuned for endless years,

And form’d by pow’r divine,

To sound in God the Father’s ears,

No other name but Thine.