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You Bring the Hymnal, I'll bring the History
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Anne Ross Cousin (1824-1906), the wife of a Presbyterian minister in London, was greatly interested in the life and death of Samuel Rutherford.  Cousin used Rutherford's last words to pen her poem "Glory Dwelleth in Immanuel's Land." The nineteen stanza poem was written in tract form and later (1857) reduced to the hymn we know as, "The Sands of Time are Sinking."

Samuel Rutherford was a forceful evangelical preacher of the 17th century who suffered much persecution in Scotland.  He openly opposed the state church and it resulted in his banishment from his pulpit and home.  He was eventually charged with treason, resulting in possible beheading.  But Rutherford was already on his deathbed and sent these words concerning his summons.

"I behoove to answer my first summons, and ere your day for me arrive, I will be where few kings and great folks come."

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(only stanza's # 1, 2, 5, & 6 are usually found in our hymn books)

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.

Oh! 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 Immanuel's land.

I've wrestled on towards 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 in Immanuel's land.

With mercy and with judgment my web of time He wove,
And age the dews of sorrow were lustered 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.

Oh! 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 e'en where glory dwelleth in Immanuel's land.

The bride eyes not her garment, but her dear bridegrooms' 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.
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