A Spring of Joy

When the congregation stood for the arrival of the bride, I watched as they waited for that first glimpse. I knew she was coming, but couldn’t see because of the people around us. Necks craning, heads bent, the crowd strained. Whispers of excitement. Smiles of anticipation. Then at long last her glorious beauty. She was radiant, her eyes fixed only in one place… her future husband’s.

As I watched this story unfold around me, a hymn I sang as a child came to mind: The Sands Of Time Are Sinking. It was one of my mom’s favorites, and it always brings back memories of ivory walls, antique black piano, blue Trinity hymnal and my fingers flying over the keys as mom made supper singing at the top of her lungs with tears of joy on her face (the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree)… “I will not gaze at glory but on my King of Grace.”

I thought about how I strain to see Him and how glorious it will be when I finally see my Jesus’ face… only He is the bridegroom and I am the bride. I want to be transfixed with my Savior the way she could only gaze at her bridegroom. I thought about my life… has it been a well-spent journey? I thought about how glorious it is to worship Christ and drink of His beauty here on earth. How wonderful it will be to drink unceasingly of that spring of joy above.

I haven’t been able to get the words out of my head. It was written as a nineteen-stanza poem in the 1800’s by Ann Rose Cousin based on letters written by Samuel Rutherford, the persecuted Scottish minister of the 1600’s. There is the original tune (Rutherford) which I grew up singing, and there is a rewritten tune performed by Indelible Grace. (Personally, I don’t think either tune does justice to the glory of these words, so if any of you aspiring musicians want to work on a rewrite, I’m game.) I can’t stop thinking about these words: The Lamb is all the glory of Emmanual’s Land. Oh, that He would be my focus, my glory here in this pilgrim-weary land!

The Sands of Time Are Sinking

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 had been the midnight
But dayspring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Emmanuel’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 Emmanuel’s land

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 Emmanuel’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 Emmanuel’s land.

How are you seeing His glory today?