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 day-spring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth In Emmanuel'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 Emmanuel's land.

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 Emmanuel'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 pierced hand:
The Lamb is all the glory Of Emmanuel's land.