The Sands of Time Are Sinking

"Oh, that I had wings like a dove! I would fly away and be at rest. Indeed I would wander far off, and remain in the wilderness. I would hasten my escape from the windy storm & tempest." Psalm 55:6-8

I don't know about you, but, often I feel as though the walls are closing in around me and the floor is giving way. I guess the hurry and bustle, the chaos and confusion of this world is getting to me. It is so difficult to simply & sweetly enjoy God. Oh how wonderful it will be to someday have that final escape from all the storms and tempests of this world to perfect and everlasting rest.

I recently came upon this beautiful hymn by Anne Ross Cousin. She had just finished reading a biography of Samuel Rutherford, and decided to weave His beautiful sayings together to make a hymn out of them.

For a little history, Samuel Rutherford, who was banished from the town and church he loved because he refused to conform to the established church of the time, was summoned to appear before Parliament and answer the charges. He was ill and dying. He responded,

"I have been summoned to appear before a higher court; that first summons I must answer."

He died a few days later. His last words were

"Glory to my Creator and Redeemer forever! Glory shineth in Immanuel's land. I shall sleep in Christ; and when I awake, I shall be satisfied with His likeness. O for arms to embrace Him! O for a well-tuned harp! I hear Him saying to me, 'Come up hither'. This night will close the door, and fasten my anchor within the veil, and I shall go away in a sleep by five o'clock in the morning."

And so it happened. He entered Immanuel's land at that very hour, and is now (as himself would have said) "sleeping in the bosom of the Almighty," till the Lord come.

Here is the full song written by Anne Ross Cousin and a few of my favorite pictures to go along with it. I'd recommend listening to the tune first or while you read words below. It's beautiful!

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

Oh! Well it is forever, Oh! well forevermore,

My nest hung in no forest of all this death doomed 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 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.

Oft in yon sea beat prison My Lord and I held tryst,

For Anwoth was not heaven, and preaching was not Christ:

And aye, my murkiest storm cloud was by a rainbow spanned,

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 over the water” hath been my loud demand,

Take me to my love’s own country, unto Immanuel’s land.

But flowers need nights 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 scanned

But glory shadeless shineth in Immanuel’s land.

The little birds of Anwoth, I used to count them blessed,

Now, beside happier altars I go to build my nest:

Over 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,

Even 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’ve wrestled on towards Heaven, against storm and wind and tide,

Now, like a weary traveler that leaneth on his guide,

Amid the shades of evening, while sinks life’s lingering sand,

I hail the glory dawning from Immanuel’s land.

Deep waters crossed life’s pathway, the hedge of thorns was sharp;

Now, these lie all behind me Oh! for a well tuned harp!

Oh! To join hallelujah 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 lustered with 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 love these two pictures because they're actually taken on the same day. It reminds me of how dismal things can seem, however, trusting God means looking beyond what we can see to what God sees...)

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 banned

Be graven on the white stone in Immanuel’s land.
(Last month I visited a friend in Texas and saw a desert briar for the first time. It amazed me that a such a lush-looking flower could survive in such barrenness. This is the only picture I took of one and I'm glad I did!)

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,

Not even where glory dwelleth in Immanuel’s land.

I shall sleep sound in Jesus, filled with His likeness rise,

To love 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 giveth but on His pierced 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 reproached me for Christ’s thrice blessed Name:

Where God His seal set fairest they’ve stamped the 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 King, at His white throne, my presence doth command

Where glory—glory dwelleth in Immanuel’s land.