The Sands of Time Are Sinking
-based on the writings of Samuel Rutherford-
Samuel Rutherford pastored in the small village of Anwoth, near the Solway Firth in western Scotland.
After 9 faithful years of ministry he was exiled to the eastern coast of Scotland, to Aberdeen, nearly 250 miles from his home and congregation. This was a painful separation because he loved his people and he loved preaching.
But Rutherford maintained his ministry through writing letters. Nearly 400 of these letters have been preserved as a rich treasury of devotion and pastoral counsel. In 1661 Parliament was about to put him on trial for treason, but he died before arriving in London.
In 1854, Anne Ross Cousin, a Scottish pastor’s wife, took phrases and ideas from Rutherford’s letters and stitched them together into a 19-verse poem, later condensed into a 5-verse hymn. In it, she expressed Rutherford’s deep-in-the-bones longing to be with Christ.
In her poem we feel his ache for his people and for preaching, but also his realization that as much as he missed Anwoth, it still “was not heaven,” and preaching “was not Christ.”
Sometimes in Aberdeen he envied the birds of Anwoth who nested in the churchyard, but then he recalled that the time would come when he would build his own nest near the better, heavenly altar.
The end of the poem gives us glimpses of the evil that was done to him and how God delivered him from the hand of Parliament by calling him home—home to Immanuel’s land.
For over 100 years the hymn version of this poem has been sung to the tune Rutherford. In recent years several new tunes have been written for it by Indelible Grace Music and Sovereign Grace Music. The rich poetry and deep theology are worth becoming acquainted with.
I feel certain it will awaken within your heart the same longing for eternity that Rutherford knew and now is experiencing.
Try out the different versions to see which fits your musical taste. As for me, I’ll stick with Rutherford. With a name like that, how can you go wrong?
Notes: (1) Many people have taken the biblical phrase “the rose of Sharon” as a metaphor for Christ. Rutherford uses it in this way in verse 3, so don't think of a literal flower when you read that verse! (2) Some of the words in the hymn sound old-fashioned, but don’t let them interfere with the overall picture. (3) The ruins of Rutherford’s church in Anwoth provide the backdrop for the words of verse 10.
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. v. 1
Oh! well it is for ever,
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
Since glory—glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land. v. 2
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. v. 3
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. v. 4
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 fulness,
His mercy doth expand,
And glory—glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land. v. 5.
Even Anwoth was not heaven,
Even preaching was not Christ;
And in my sea-beat prison
My Lord and I held tryst:
And aye my murkiest storm-cloud
Was by a rainbow spanned,
Caught from the glory dwelling
In Immanuel’s land. v. 6
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. v.7
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, dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land. v. 8
The little birds of Anwoth
I used to count them blessed,
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. v. 9
Fair Anwoth by the Solway,
To me thou still art dear!
Even on 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. v. 10
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. v. 11
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. v. 12
With mercy and with judgment
My web of time he wove,
And aye 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. v. 13
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. v. 14
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 other stand,
Not even where glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land. v. 15
I shall sleep sound in Jesus,
Filled with his likeness rise,
To live 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. v. 16
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 gifteth,
But on his pierced hand:
The Lamb is all the glory
Of Immanuel’s land. v. 17
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 their foulest brand;
But judgment shines like noonday
In Immanuel’s land. v. 18
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 does command,
Where glory—glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land. v. 19