H-234The Sands Of Time

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 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.

The King there in his beauty

Without a veil is seen;

It were a wellspent journey,

Tho seven deaths lay between;

The lamb with his fair army

Doth on mount zion stand,

And glory, glory dwelleth

In Immanuel's land.