Praise for the Fountain Opened

There is a fountain fill’d with blood, 
Drawn from Emmanuel’s 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, 
Wash’d all my sins away. 

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood 
Shall never lose its power, 
Till all the ransom’d 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 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 form’d by power divine, 
To sound in God the Father’s ears 
No other name but Thine. 

—William Cowper

Beneath Thy Cross

I’ve posted this before during this week — Holy Week, as some call it. I just call it a week to remember that Christ died for me.

Am I a stone, and not a sheep, 
That I can stand, O Christ, beneath thy cross, 
To number drop by drop Thy Blood’s slow loss, 
And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved 
Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee; 
Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly; 
Not so the thief was moved;

Not so the Sun and Moon 
Which hid their faces in a starless sky, 
A horror of great darkness at broad noon— 
I, only I.

Yet give not o’er, 
But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock; 
Greater than Moses, turn and look once more 
And smite a rock.

—Christina Rossetti

Jehovah Our Righteousness

My God, how perfect are Thy ways!

But mine polluted are;

Sin twines itself about my praise,

And slides into my prayer.

When I would speak what Thou hast done

To save me from my sin,

I cannot make Thy mercies known,

But self-applause creeps in.

Divine desire, that holy flame

Thy grace creates in me;

Alas! impatience is its name,

When it returns to Thee.

This heart, a fountain of vile thoughts.

How does it overflow,

While self upon the surface floats,

Still bubbling from below.

Let others in the gaudy dress

Of fancied merit shine;

The Lord shall be my righteousness,

The Lord forever mine.

—William Cowper in Olney Hymns

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More Cowper poetry:

• The Contrite Heart
• The New Convert
• Old Testament Gospel
• To the Immortal Memory of the Halibut
• Jehovah-Jesus
• Self-Acquaintance

On the life of Cowper: 

• A lecture on the life of Cowper by Michael Haykin 
• Cowper 1
• Cowper 2