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 trails 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.

The Sands of Time Are Sinking by Anne R. Cousin


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