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 Emmanuel’s land.

The King there in His beauty
without a veil is seen,
it were a well-spent journey,
though trials lay between:
the Lamb with His fair army
on Zion’s mountain stands,
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 piercèd hand,
the Lamb is all the glory
of Emmanuel’s land.