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.
When this poor, lisping, stamm’ring tongue Lies silent in the grave,
Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save:
I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save, I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save;
Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save.