The Poetry Corner

Praise For The Fountain Opened. - Zechariah xiii.1.

By William Cowper

There is a fountain filld with blood Drawn from Emmanuels veins; And sinners, plunged beneath that flood, Lose all their guilty stains. The dying thief rejoiced to see That fountain in his day; And there have I, as vile as he, Washd all my sins away. Dear dying Lamb, thy precious blood Shall never lose its power, Till all the ransomd church of God Be saved to sin no more. Eer 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, Ill 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 formd by power divine, To sound in God the Fathers ears No other name but thine.