Classic Poem

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
The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away.
Wash all my sins away,
Wash all my sins away.
Dear dying Lamb! thy precious blood
Shall never lose its pow'r,
Till all the ransomed Church of God,
Are saved to sin no more.
Are saved to sin no more,
Are saved 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 shall be, till I die,
And shall be, till I die.
Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
I'll sing thy pow'r to save,
When this poor lisping, stamm'ring tongue,
Lies silent in the grave.
Lies silent in the grave,
Lies silent in the grave.