1 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.

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 Immanuel’s land.

3 With mercy and with judgment
My web of time he wove,
And aye the dews of sorrow
Were lustred by his love;
I’ll bless the hand that guided,
I’ll bless the heart that planned,
When throned where glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.