HERE at the Gospel pool,* the poor, The withered, lame and blind, With waiting hearts expect a cure, And free admission find.
Here streams of sovereign mercy flow, To heal the sin-sick soul, To wash the guilty white as snow, And make the wounded whole.
The dumb break forth with songs of praise, The blind their sight receive, The cripple walks in wisdom’s ways, The dead revive, and live!
Yet numbers oft-times here apply Who meet with no relief; Though help is here, they pine and die In hopeless unbelief.
Why should such souls refuse to bathe, And yet attend the pool? But none can ever find the faith While love of sin bears rule.
Dear Saviour, come and interpose, Our stubborn wills constrain, Or else for us the water flows And grace is preached in vain.
John ewton, 1725-1807