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 had been the midnight 
But dayspring is at hand, 
And glory, glory dwelleth 
In Emmanuel’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 Emmanuel’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 Emmanuel’s land.

 

O I am my Beloved’s 
And my Beloved is 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 Emmanuel’s land.