The sands of time are sinking,
The dawn of heaven breaks;
The summer morn Ive sighed for
The fair, sweet morn awakes:
Dark, dark had been the midnight
But dayspring is at hand,
But glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuels land.
O Christ, He is the fountain,
The deep, sweet well of love!
The streams on earth I've tasted
More deep I'll drink above:
There to an ocean fullness
His mercy doth expand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuels land.
O I am my Beloveds
And my Beloved is mine!
He brings a poor vile sinner
Into His house of wine
I stand upon His merit -
I know no other stand,
Not e'en where glory dwelleth
In Immanuels land.
The bride eyes not her garment,
But her dear Bridegrooms face;
I will not gaze at glory
But on my King of grace.
Not at the crown He giveth
But on His pierced hand;
The Lamb is all the glory
Of Immanuels land.
