There is a fountain filled with blood
drawn from Immanuel’s veins;
and sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
lose all their guilty stains:
lose all their guilty stains,
lose all their guilty stains;
and sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
lose all their guilty stains.
The dying thief rejoiced to see
that fountain in his day;
and there have I, though vile as he,
washed all my sins away:
washed all my sins away,
washed all my sins away;
and there have I, though vile as he,
washed all my sins away.
Dear dying Lamb, Your precious blood
shall never lose its power,
till all the ransomed church of God
be saved, to sin no more:
be saved, to sin no more,
be saved, to sin no more;
till all the ransomed church of God,
be saved to sin no more.
Ever since by faith I saw the stream
Your flowing wounds supply,
redeeming love has been my theme,
and shall be till I die:
and shall be till I die,
and shall be till I die;
redeeming love has been my theme,
and shall be till I die.
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
lies silent in the grave,
then in a nobler, sweeter song,
I’ll sing Your power to save:
I’ll sing Your power to save,
I’ll sing Your power to save;
then in a nobler, sweeter song,
I’ll sing Your power to save.