The Fountain

I have not grown weary of revival But all the time that lapses in between In search for endless joy, my patience I destroy 'Til mercy opens up a mountain stream I go to the fountain, I go to the well I hear in the waves the echoes of His voice saying "Peace be still" My hands are worn, my lips are sore and dry until I go to the fountain All the saints together form a garden And beauty is the riches of its fold Even in the rain, its beauty will remain For water is its silver and its gold And in that moment when you see the dove descending He will be revealed And in that moment when the water washes over We will be set free