The Sands of Time Are Sinking

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.

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.

Oh! Well it is for­ev­er

Oh! well for­ev­er­more

My nest hung in no for­est

Of all this death doomed shore:

Yea

let the vain world van­ish

As from the ship the strand

While glo­ry—glo­ry dwell­eth

In Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

There the red rose of Sha­ron

Unfolds its heart­some bloom

And fills the air of Heav­en

With ra­vish­ing per­fume:

Oh! To be­hold it blos­som

While by its frag­rance fanned

Where 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.

Oft in yon sea beat pri­son

My Lord and I held tryst

For An­woth was not Heav­en

And preach­ing was not Christ:

And aye

my mur­ki­est storm cloud

Was by a rain­bow spanned

Caught from the glo­ry dwell­ing

In Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

But that He built a Heav­en

Of His sur­pass­ing love

A lit­tle new Je­ru­sa­lem

Like to the one above

Lord take me ov­er the wa­ter

Hath been my loud de­mand

Take me to my love’s own coun­try

Unto Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

But flow­ers need night’s cool dark­ness

The moon­light and the dew;

So Christ

from one who loved it

His shin­ing oft with­drew:

And then

for cause of ab­sence

My trou­bled soul I scanned

But glo­ry shade­less shin­eth

In Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

The lit­tle birds of An­woth

I used to count them blessed

Now

be­side hap­pi­er al­tars

I go to build my nest:

O’er these there broods no si­lence

No graves around them stand

For glo­ry

death­less

dwell­eth

In Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

Fair An­woth by the Sol­way

To me thou still art dear

E’en from the verge of Heav­en

I drop for thee a tear.

Oh! If one soul from An­woth

Meet me at God’s right hand

My heav’n will be two heav­ens

In Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

I’ve wres­tled on to­wards Heav­en

Against storm and wind and tide

Now

like a wea­ry tra­vel­er

That lean­eth on his guide

Amid the shades of ev­en­ing

While sinks life’s lin­ger­ing sand

I hail the glo­ry dawn­ing

From Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

Deep wa­ters crossed life’s path­way

The hedge of thorns was sharp;

Now

these lie all be­hind me

Oh! for a well tuned harp!

Oh! To join hal­le­lujah

With yon tri­umph­ant band

Who sing where glo­ry dwell­eth

In Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

With mer­cy and with judg­ment

My web of time He wove

And aye

the 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.

Soon shall the cup of glo­ry

Wash down earth’s bit­ter­est woes

Soon shall the de­sert bri­ar

Break into Ed­en’s rose;

The curse shall change to bless­ing

The name on earth that’s banned

Be grav­en on the white stone

In Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

O I am my Be­lov­èd’s

And my Be­lov­èd’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.

I shall sleep sound in Je­sus

Filled with His like­ness rise

To love and to ad­ore Him

To see Him with these eyes:

’Tween me and re­sur­rect­ion

But para­dise doth stand;

Then—then for glo­ry dwell­ing

In Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

The bride eyes not her gar­ment

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 pierc­èd hand;

The Lamb is all the glo­ry

Of Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

I have borne scorn and hat­red

I have borne wrong and shame

Earth’s proud ones have re­proached me

For Christ’s thrice bless­èd name:

Where God His seal set fair­est

They’ve stamped the foul­est brand

But judg­ment shines like noon­day

In Im­ma­nu­el’s land.

They’ve sum­moned me be­fore them

But there I may not come

My Lord says Come up hi­ther

My Lord says Wel­come home!

My king

at His white throne

My pre­sence doth com­mand

Where glo­ry—glo­ry dwell­eth

In Im­ma­nu­el’s land.