The sands of time are sinking, the dawn of heaven breaks;
The summer morn I've sighed for, the fair sweet morn awakes;
Dark, dark hath been the midnight, but dayspring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth in Immanuel's land.
The King there in His beauty, without a veil is seen;
It were a well spent journey though seven deaths lay between;
The Lamb with His fair army doth on Mount Zion stand,
And glory, glory dwelleth in Immanuel's 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 Immanuel's land.
With mercy and with judgment my web of time He wove;
And always dews of sorrow were lustered with His love;
I'll bless the hand that guided, I'll bless the heart that planned,
When throned where glory dwelleth in Immanuel's land.
Oh! I am my Beloved's and my Beloved's 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 Immanuel's land.
The bride eyes not her garments but her dear Bridegroom's 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 Immanuel's land.