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.
I've wrestled on toward heaven
'Gainst 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.
O for a well-tuned harp!
O to join the 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.
--Annie R. Cousin.
The grave itself is but a covered bridge
Leading from light to light through a brief darkness.
--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
I hold that, since by death alone
God bids my soul go free,
In death a richer blessing is
Than all the world to me.
--Scheffler, tr. by Frederic Rowland Marvin.