Songs

The sands of time are sinking

		
358
			7.6.7.6.D.

1	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 day-spring is at hand, 
	And glory, glory dwelleth 
	In Immanuel’s land. 

2	Oh, Christ, He is the fountain, 
	The deep, sweet well of love! 
	The streams of 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.

3	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.

4	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.

5	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.

6	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.

					A.R. Cousin