Christian, Encouragement, faith, future, God, hope, Jesus, life, love, Music, on Christ, Praise, saved, solid ground

All is not lost when you are hidden in God

Hope for the hopeless

There is a fountain filled with blood 

Drawn from Immanuel’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 may I, though vile as he,

  Wash all my sins away:

  Wash all my sins away,

  Wash all my sins away;

And there may I, though vile as he,

  Wash all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
  Shall never lose its power,

Till all the ransomed ones of God

  Be saved, to sin no more:

  Be saved, to sin no more,

  Be saved, to sin no more;

Till all the ransomed ones 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.
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue

  Lies silent in the grave,

Then in a nobler, sweeter song,

  I’ll sing Thy power to save:

  I’ll sing Thy power to save,

  I’ll sing Thy power to save;

Then in a nobler, sweeter song,

  I’ll sing Thy power to save.

Hymnwriter:  William  Cowper (1731-1800)

Advertisements

There is a fountain filled with blood 

Aside
Christian, Encouragement, faith, Music, Praise

God Moves in a Mysterious Way

This slideshow requires JavaScript.


William Cowper

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never failing skill
He treasures up His bright designs
And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain;
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

Tru3 J0y

Posted from WordPress

Standard