The Fountain for Sin.

THERE is a fountain filled 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 That fountain in his day; And 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 ransomed church of God Are sav'd to sin no more.

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.

And when this feeble, falt'ring tongue Lies silent in the grave, Then in a nobler, sweeter song I'll sing thy power to save.