As I arrived home from evening Communion, I was greeted by an email from a very beloved friend. In that email, he shared the highlights of his day; and, among those highlights, he shared a few verses from one of the hymns sung during his local churches worship service that the Lord had used to feed and bless his soul.
Is it not lovely that one can praise and worship the Lord and then continue that praise and worship by sharing in a portion of another churches worship that very day? Now, that is such a beautiful example of the far reaching power of the body of Christ.
After hearing him talk about the hymn (which I could not recall ever hearing) I looked it up and simply had to post it --in its entirety. What gifts our Lord has given to His church--a never ending fountain of beauty and grace to drink from. May He use it to bless many others as it has blessed me and provided another means in which to worship my Lord this evening.
In Immanuel’s Land
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.
Oh! well it is for ever,
Oh! well for evermore,
My nest hung in no forest
Of all this death-doom’d shore:
Yea, let the vain world vanish,
As from the ship the strand,
And glory-glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
There the Red Rose of Sharon
Unfolds its heartsome bloom,
And fills the air of Heaven
With ravishing perfume:
Oh! to behold it blossom,
While by its fragrance fann’d
Where glory-glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
The King there in His beauty,
Without a veil, is seen:
It were 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.
E’en Anwoth was not heaven
E’en preaching was not Christ;
And in my sea-beat prison
My Lord and I held tryst:
And aye my murkiest storm-cloud
Was by a rainbow spann’d
Caught from the glory dwelling
In Immanuel’s land.
But that He built a heaven
Of his surpassing love,
A little New Jerusalem,
Like to the one above,
“Lord, take me o’er the water,”
Had been my loud demand,
“Take me to love’s own country,
Unto Immanuel’s land.
But flowers need night’s cool darkness
The moonlight and the dew;
So Christ, from one who loved it,
His shining oft withdrew;
And then for cause of absence,
My troubled soul I scann’d
But glory, shadeless, shineth
In Immanuel’s land.
The little birds of Anwoth
I used to count them blest,
Now, beside happier altars
I go to build my nest:
O’er these there broods no silence,
No graves around them stand,
For glory, deathless, dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
Fair Anwoth by the Solway,
To me thou sill art dear!
E’en from the verge of Heaven
I drop for thee a tear.
Oh! if one soul from Anwoth
Meet me at God’s right hand,
My Heaven will be two Heavens,
In Immanuel’s land.
I have wrestled on toward Heaven,
‘Gainst storm, and wind, and tide:
Now, like a weary traveller,
That leaneth on his guide,
Amid the shades of evening,
While sinks life’s ling’ring sand,
I hail the glory dawning
From Immanuel’s land.
Deep water 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 Hallelujah
with yon triumphant band,
Who sing, where glory dwelleth,
In Immanuel’s land.
With mercy and with judgment
My web of time He wove,
And aye the dews of sorrow
Were lustered with His love.
I’ll bless the hand that guided,
I’ll bless the heart that plann’d,
When throned 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,
I know no other stand,
Not e’en where glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
I shall sleep sound in Jesus
Fill’d with His likeness rise,
To live and to adore Him,
To see Him with these eyes
‘Tween me and resurrection
But Paradise doth stand;
Then-then for glory dwelling
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 reproach’d me,
For Christ’s thrice blessed name:
Where God is seal set 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 white throne,
My presence doth command,
Where glory-glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
This much-loved poem was composed by Mrs. Anne Ross Cousin, wife of a minister of the Free Church of Scotland. The poem is as remarkable as it is beautiful in that Mrs. Cousin extracted from the letters of Samuel Rutherford many of his most memorable sayings and wove them into a hymn of 19 stanzas, maintaining throughout high poetic excellence and great faithfulness to the language and spirit of the letters.
Certain stanzas of this poem are familiar to most Christians as “The Sands Of Time Are Sinking.”
Is it not lovely that one can praise and worship the Lord and then continue that praise and worship by sharing in a portion of another churches worship that very day? Now, that is such a beautiful example of the far reaching power of the body of Christ.
After hearing him talk about the hymn (which I could not recall ever hearing) I looked it up and simply had to post it --in its entirety. What gifts our Lord has given to His church--a never ending fountain of beauty and grace to drink from. May He use it to bless many others as it has blessed me and provided another means in which to worship my Lord this evening.
In Immanuel’s Land
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.
Oh! well it is for ever,
Oh! well for evermore,
My nest hung in no forest
Of all this death-doom’d shore:
Yea, let the vain world vanish,
As from the ship the strand,
And glory-glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
There the Red Rose of Sharon
Unfolds its heartsome bloom,
And fills the air of Heaven
With ravishing perfume:
Oh! to behold it blossom,
While by its fragrance fann’d
Where glory-glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
The King there in His beauty,
Without a veil, is seen:
It were 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.
E’en Anwoth was not heaven
E’en preaching was not Christ;
And in my sea-beat prison
My Lord and I held tryst:
And aye my murkiest storm-cloud
Was by a rainbow spann’d
Caught from the glory dwelling
In Immanuel’s land.
But that He built a heaven
Of his surpassing love,
A little New Jerusalem,
Like to the one above,
“Lord, take me o’er the water,”
Had been my loud demand,
“Take me to love’s own country,
Unto Immanuel’s land.
But flowers need night’s cool darkness
The moonlight and the dew;
So Christ, from one who loved it,
His shining oft withdrew;
And then for cause of absence,
My troubled soul I scann’d
But glory, shadeless, shineth
In Immanuel’s land.
The little birds of Anwoth
I used to count them blest,
Now, beside happier altars
I go to build my nest:
O’er these there broods no silence,
No graves around them stand,
For glory, deathless, dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
Fair Anwoth by the Solway,
To me thou sill art dear!
E’en from the verge of Heaven
I drop for thee a tear.
Oh! if one soul from Anwoth
Meet me at God’s right hand,
My Heaven will be two Heavens,
In Immanuel’s land.
I have wrestled on toward Heaven,
‘Gainst storm, and wind, and tide:
Now, like a weary traveller,
That leaneth on his guide,
Amid the shades of evening,
While sinks life’s ling’ring sand,
I hail the glory dawning
From Immanuel’s land.
Deep water 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 Hallelujah
with yon triumphant band,
Who sing, where glory dwelleth,
In Immanuel’s land.
With mercy and with judgment
My web of time He wove,
And aye the dews of sorrow
Were lustered with His love.
I’ll bless the hand that guided,
I’ll bless the heart that plann’d,
When throned 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,
I know no other stand,
Not e’en where glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
I shall sleep sound in Jesus
Fill’d with His likeness rise,
To live and to adore Him,
To see Him with these eyes
‘Tween me and resurrection
But Paradise doth stand;
Then-then for glory dwelling
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 reproach’d me,
For Christ’s thrice blessed name:
Where God is seal set 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 white throne,
My presence doth command,
Where glory-glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
This much-loved poem was composed by Mrs. Anne Ross Cousin, wife of a minister of the Free Church of Scotland. The poem is as remarkable as it is beautiful in that Mrs. Cousin extracted from the letters of Samuel Rutherford many of his most memorable sayings and wove them into a hymn of 19 stanzas, maintaining throughout high poetic excellence and great faithfulness to the language and spirit of the letters.
Certain stanzas of this poem are familiar to most Christians as “The Sands Of Time Are Sinking.”
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