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 Immanuel's land.
With mercy and with judgment My web of time He wove,
And aye the dews of sorrow Were lustred 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.
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 even where glory dwelleth, 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.
Author: Anne Ross Cousin Composer: Chretian Urhan; Arran. E. G. Rimbault