Tuesday, October 14, 2008

The Sands of Time Are Sinking: Anne Cousin

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,
While 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 fulness, 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 still 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 towards 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 waters 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 Halleluiah 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 lustred 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 gifteth, But on His pierc├Ęd 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 His 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.

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