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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 has been the midnight,
    But dayspring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
    In Emmanuel’s land.
2  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 fulness,
    His mercy doth expand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
    In Emmanuel’s land.
3  With mercy and with judgement,
    My web of time He wove;
And e’en 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 Emmanuel’s land.
4  The bride eyes not her garment,
    But her dear bridegroom’s face;
I will not gaze at glory,
    But on my King of grace;
I rest upon His merit,
    I know no other stand:
The Lamb is all the glory
    Of Emmanuel’s land.
5  I’ve wrestled on towards Heaven,
    ’Gainst storm and wind and tide;
Now, like a weary traveller
    Who leans upon his guide,
Amid the shades of evening,
    While sinks life’s lingering sand,
I’ll hail the glory dawning
    From Emmanuel’s land.
Anne Ross Cousin, 1824-1906