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 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.

With mercy and with judgment
my web of time He wove,
and aye, the dews of sorrow
were lustred 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.

The King there in His beauty,
without a veil is seen:
It were a well spent journey,
though s'ven deaths lay between:
The Lamb with His fair army,
doth on Mount Zion stand,
and glory, glory dwelleth
in Immanuel's land.