THERE is a fountain filled with blood
   Drawn from Emmanuel’s veins;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood
    Lose all their guilty stains.
2  The dying thief rejoiced to see
    That fountain in his day;
And there may I, as vile as he,
    Wash all my sins away.
3  Dear dying Lamb! Thy precious blood
    Shall never lose its power,
Till all the ransomed Church of God
    Be saved, to sin no more.
4  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.
5  Then, in a nobler, sweeter song
    I’ll sing Thy power to save,
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
    Lies silent in the grave.
William Cowper, 1731-1800