There is a stream of precious blood
Which flowed from Jesus' veins;
And sinners washed in that blest flood
Lose all their guilty stains.
The dying thief rejoiced to see
That Saviour in his day;
And by that blood, though vile as he,
Our sins are washed away.
Blest Lamb of God, Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power,
Till every ransomed saint of God
Be saved to sin no more.
E'er since, by faith, we saw the stream
Thy wounds supplied for sin,
Redeeming love has been our theme,
Our joy and peace has been.
Soon in a nobler, sweeter song
We'll sing Thy power to save;
No more with lisping, stamm'ring tongue,
But conquerors o'er the grave.
Lord, we believe Thou hast prepared
(Unworthy though we be)
For us a blood-bought, free reward,
And harps of minstrelsy.
Harps strung and tuned for endless years
And formed by power divine,
To sound in God the Father's ears,
No other name but Thine.