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.

Oh, 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 fulness,
His mercy doth expand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.

With mercy and with judgement
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.

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 safer stand,
Not e’en where glory dwelleth,
In Immanuel’s land.

The bride eyes not her garment,
But her dear bridegroom’s face;
I will not gaze on 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.