Death and the curse were in our cup: O Christ, ’twas full for Thee; But Thou hast drained the last dark drop, ’Tis empty now for me. That bitter cup, love drank it up; Now blessing’s draught for me.
Jehovah lifted up His rod; O Christ, it fell on Thee! Thou wast sore stricken of Thy God; There’s not one stroke for me. Thy tears, Thy blood, beneath it flowed; Thy bruising healeth me.
The tempest’s awful voice was heard, O Christ, it broke on Thee! Thy open bosom was my ward, It braved the storm for me. Thy form was scarred, Thy visage marred; Now cloudless peace for me.
Jehovah bade His sword awake; O Christ, it woke ’gainst Thee! Thy blood the flaming blade must slake; Thine heart its sheath must be; All for my sake, my peace to make; Now sleeps that sword for me.
For me, Lord Jesus, Thou hast died, And I have died in Thee! Thou’rt ris’n—my hands are all untied, And now Thou liv’st in me. When purified, made white and tried, Thy glory then for me!
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.
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.
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.
To Thee and to Thy Christ, O God, We sing, we ever sing; For He invaded death’s abode, And robbed him of his sting. The house of dust enthralls no more, For He, the Strong to save, Himself doth guard that silent door, Great Keeper of the grave.
To Thee and to Thy Christ, O God, We sing, we ever sing; For He hath crushed beneath His rod The world’s proud rebel king. He plunged in His imperial strength To gulfs of darkness down; He brought His trophy up at length, The foiled usurper’s crown.
To Thee and to Thy Christ, O God, We sing, we ever sing; For He redeemed us with His blood From every evil thing. Thy saving strength His arm upbore, The arm that set us free: Glory, O God, forevermore Be to Thy Christ and Thee.
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. I’m hidden in His presence And held by His own hand.
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, And my eternal stand!