Drawn from Emmanuel's veins;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Loose all their guilty stains.
The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there have I, as vile as he,
Washed all my sins away.
Dear dying Lamb, thy precious blood
Shall never lose its pow’r;
Till all the ransomed church of God
Be 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.
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.
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 formed by pow’r divine;
To sound, in God the Father’s ears,
No other name but thine.
- William Cowper.