There is a fountain of life, we can draw daily from,
This life giving source of Redeeming Blood,
The Blood that removes all sin, and stain, victory over
death, hell, and the grave.

The Blood of Jesus, that set us free, at the foot of the cross,
This life giving blood, that spilled to the ground, shook the powers
of darkness, broke the enemy's chains, broke sickness, and pain,
tore the curtain, that veil, and brought us to God, this fountain of life,
fulfilled in His Son, Oh the miraculous power in the Blood.

Victory is ours through this fountain of life, all the saints of long ago,
Knew of this power, this sustaining flow of blood, stops the enemy's
forces when he comes in like a flood, and the Fountain of Life, I love
dearly, today, and I know Him, in Whom I am not ashamed, this giver
of life, and Jesus is His name.

Lisa Beth Jenkins Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved

There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Emmanuel's veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.
Lose all their guilty stains, lose all their guilty stains;
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, though vile as he, washed all my sins away.
Washed all my sins away, washed all my sins away;
And there have I, though vile as he, washed all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood shall never lose its power
Till all the ransomed church of God be saved, to sin no more.
Be saved, to sin no more, be saved, to sin no more;
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.
And shall be till I die, and shall be till I die;
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.
Lies silent in the grave, lies silent in the grave;
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 formed by power divine,
To sound in God the Father's ears no other name but Thine.