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IMMANUEL'S LAND

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The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Jun 16, 1868

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 31, No. 26.

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IMMANUEL'S LAND.

SAMUEL RUTHERFORD was a Scotch divine, who suffered much during the religious persecution in Scotland, but maintained his strong integrity of character, and deep-toned piety, to the last. At death, his last words were, "Glory, glory dwelleth in Immanuel's land." The following lines are made up mostly of expressions of his own.
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! well it is forever— Oh! well forevermore; My nest hung in no forest Of all this death-doomed shore; Yea, let this 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 heartmost 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 vail 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.
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.
Oft in yon sea-beat prison, My Lord and I held tryst; For Anworth 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 o'er the water," Had been my loud demand; "Take me to love's own country, Unto Immanuel's land!"
But flowers need night's 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 Anworth— I used to count them blest; Now beside happier altars I go to build my nest. O'er these there broods no silence; No graves around them stand; For glory deathless dwelleth In Immanuel's land.
Fair Anworth by the Solway, To me thou still art dear; E'en from the verge of Heaven, I drop for thee a tear. Oh! if one soul from Anworth, Meet me at God's right hand, My Heaven will be two Heavens, In Immanuel's land.
I've wrestled on toward Heaven, 'Gainst storm, and wind, and tide; Now, like a weary traveler That leaned upon his guide, Amid the shades of evening, While sinks life's lingering sands, I hail the glory dawning From Immanuel's land. Deep waters crossed life's pathway, The hedge of thorns was sharp; Now these all lie 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 brier 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.
Oh! I am my Beloved's And my Beloved is mine! He brings a poor, vile sinner Into his "house of wine." I stand upon his merit; I know no safer 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 at 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's seal set the fairest, They've stamped their 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 kingly King, at his white throne, My presence doth command, Where glory, glory dwelleth, In Immanuel's land.