The Sands of Time are Sinking - YouWorship
Artist: Anne R. Cousin
Category: Worship
Song Lyrics
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 of 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. There the Red Rose of Sharon Reveals His handsome bloom He fills the air of Heaven Sending forth His fresh perfume: Oh! To behold His beauty, While by His fragrance fanned, 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. O I am my Beloved's And my Beloved's mine! He brings a poor vile sinner Into His "house of wine." I stand upon His merit- I know no other stand, I'll have no Rock beside Him 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. 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 of 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. There the Red Rose of Sharon Reveals His handsome bloom He fills the air of Heaven Sending forth His fresh perfume: Oh! To behold His beauty, While by His fragrance fanned, 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. O I am my Beloved's And my Beloved's mine! He brings a poor vile sinner Into His "house of wine." I stand upon His merit- I know no other stand, I'll have no Rock beside Him 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.