Anne Cousin’s hymn “The Sands of Time Are Sinking” has long been a favorite of mine. The last verse has always beautifully pointed to the glorious Christ with whom I will share eternity:

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.

Turning my gaze Christ-ward instead of self-ward is a constant struggle for me; therefore the thought of being so lost in His glory that I complete lose sight of myself is beyond wonderful! The four or five verses of that hymn that are found in most hymnals have already ministered grace to me time and again. But I recently found that there are not merely five, but nineteen verses to this precious hymn! These verses penned by Anne Cousin, the wife of a nineteenth century Scottish preacher, look back to some letters and to the last words of Samuel Rutherford. Rutherford was a Scottish pastor who, during a period of separation from his church, ministered to their souls through letters. Here are a few of my favorite “unknown” stanzas:

Oh! Well it is forever, 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, While glory—glory dwelleth in Immanuel’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 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.

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.

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 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.

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 the 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 King, at His white throne, my presence doth command Where glory—glory dwelleth in Immanuel’s land.