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
