For some reason
This has been going round and round in my head:
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 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.
With mercy and with judgment
My web of time he wove,
And aye the dews of sorrow
Were lustred by his love;
I’ll bless the hand that guided,
I’ll bless the heart that planned,
When throned where glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.
I’ve 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 lingering sand,
I hail the glory dawning
In Immanuel’s land.
Anne Ross Cousin (can be sung to the tune Rutherford, by Chretien Urhan)
Old fashioned, yes. Of limited application, I guess so. But moving; I’m remembering a lady in Aberdeen who told me that the beginning of the third verse was her testimony …
