70 The Sands of Time Are Sinking

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 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 fullness 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 piercèd hand: the Lamb is all the glory of Emmanuel's land. Contact us at [email protected] Call or text us at 586.752.4280 www.gracebaptistromeo.com