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.
The King there in His beauty, without a veil is seen:
It was 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.
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 fullness, His mercy doth expand,
And glory—glory dwelleth in Immanuel’s land.
Oft in you sea-beat prison my Lord and I held tryst:
For Anworth was not Heaven, and preaching was not Christ;—
And aye, my murkiest storm-cloud was by a rainbow spann’d,
Caught from the glory dwelling in Immanuel’s land.
Fair Anworth, by the Solway, to me thou still art dear,
E’en from the verge of Heaven I drop for thee a tear.
Oh! if one soul from Anworth meet me at God’s right hand,
My Heaven will be two Heavens, in Immanuel’s land.
Deep waters cross’d life’s pathway, the hedge of thorns was sharp:
Now, these lie all behind me—oh! for a well-tuned harp!
Oh! to join Halleluiah with your triumphant band,
Who sing, where glory dwelleth, in Immanuel’s land.
Soon shall the cup of glory wash down earth’s bitterest woes,
Soon shall the desert briar break into Eden’s rose;
The curse shall change to blessing—the name on earth that’s bann’d
Be graven on the white stone in Immanuel’s land.
Oh! 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, 1 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 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.
I have borne scorn and hatred, I have borne wrong and shame,
Earth’s proud ones have reproached me for Christ’s thrice blessed name:—
Where God’s seal sets the fairest they’ve stamp’d their foulest brand,
But judgment shines like noonday in Immanuel’s land.
They’ve summoned me before them, but there I may not come,
My Lord says “Come up hither,” my Lord says “Welcome home!”
My kingly King, at His bright throne, my presence doth command,
Where glory—glory dwelleth in Immanuel’s land.
From the last words of Samuel Rutherford.