The Fountain

The water sprang In arching glee, A bubbling, gurgling, mounting tree. From deep within The ground it climbed, To reach a peak of height sublime. O fountain fair, A pillar there, What can you teach me in the air? The spray you spew Delights the eye, And sprinkles o’er me as I try To understand The truth you show, A doctrine dearly held to know, A firm decree, The fountain of A holy faith and life above. It’s not my work; I’m not the root; It’s all of grace—election’s fruit!...