The sands of time are sinking. The dawn eternal 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.
The King there in his beauty, without a veil, is seen.
It were a well-spent journey, though sev'n 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 peace.
The streams I here have tasted; the fount will there increase.
There to an ocean fulness his mercy doth expand,
	and glory, 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.
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.
Soon shall the cup of glory wash down Earth's bitt'rest 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.
I've wrestl'd on t'ward Zion 'gainst storm and wind and tide.
Now, like a weary trav'ller that leaneth on his guide,
amid the shades of evening, while sinks this ling'ring sand,
	I hail the glory dawning from Immanuel's land.