Ho! all that thirst, draw nigh,
     And drink of that pure fount,
Which issues forth eternally,
     From Zion's holy mount.

Haste to that blessed fold,
     Which Jesus first ordained,
And which, His hand and holy arm,
     Have ever since maintained.

There, shall the sacred Fount,
     Wash all your sins away,
And fit you, so your faith be firm,
     For realms of endless day.

There, is that Word dispensed,
     By which alone, we live,
Which only can our hopes confirm,
     And joys eternal, give.

There is that Feast prepared,
     For those in Christ who live;
Rich banquet! where the contrite heart
     True comfort shall receive.

Come, then, the Spirit cries,
     And she, the heavenly Bride,
Come, all that are athirst, nor fear
     That one shall be denied.

Come, whosoever will,
     Nor price, nor money bring;
Come to that fount, whose streams of life
     Through endless ages, spring.

Project Canterbury