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.
The King there in His beauty Without a veil is seen; It were a well-spent journey, Though sev’n deaths lay between: The Lamb with His fair army, Doth on Mount Zion stand, And glory, 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 by 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.
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 pierced hand: The Lamb is all the glory Of Immanuel’s land.