There is a fountain filled with blood Drawn from Immanuel's veins; And sinners, plunged beneath that flood Lose all their guilty strains. 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 from'd by pow'r divine, To sound in God the Father's ears, No other name but Thine. Amen.