Wednesday, September 25, 2019

Rutherford in Verse


Mrs. A. R. Cousin, wife of Rev. W. Cousin, Free Church minister of Melrose, has woven into a delightful poem many of Samuel Rutherfords most remarkable utterances. This piece has become almost a household hymn, known over all our country, and in America no less. It is entitled sometimes by its first line, The sands of time are sinking,” and sometimes,The Last Words of S. R.,” though it takes in many of his sayings, besides his deathbed words.

The sands of time are sinking, 
The dawn of Heaven breaks,
The summer morn Ive sighed for, 
The fair sweet morn awakes:
Dark, dark hath been the midnight, 
But dayspring is at hand,
And gloryglory dwelleth In Immanuels land.

Oh! well it is for ever, 
Oh! well for evermore,
My nest hung in no forest
Of all this death-doom
d shore:

Yea, let the vain world vanish, 
As from the ship the strand,
While gloryglory dwelleth 
In Immanuels land,

There the Red Rose of Sharon 
Unfolds its heartsome bloom,
And fills the air of Heaven 
With ravishing perfume:
Oh! to behold it blossom, 
While by its fragrance fannd,
Where gloryglory dwelleth In Immanuels 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 gloryglory dwelleth In Immanuels land.

Oh! Christ He is the Fountain, 
The deep sweet well of love!
The streams on earth Ive tasted, 
More deep Ill drink above:
There, to an ocean fulness, 
His mercy doth expand, 
And gloryglory dwelleth
In Immanuels land.

Een Anwoth was not heaven
Een 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 spannd,
Caught from the glory dwelling In Immanuels land.

But that He built a heaven 
Of His surpassing love,
A little New Jerusalem, 
Like to the one above,
Lord, take me oer the water,
Had been my loud demand,
Take me to loves own country, 
Unto Immanuels land.

But flowers need nights 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 scannd
But glory, shadeless, shineth In Immanuels land.

The little birds of Anwoth
I used to count them blest,

Now, beside happier altars
I go to build my nest:
er these there broods no silence,

No graves around them stand, 
For glory, deathless, dwelleth
In Immmanuels land.

Fair Anwoth by the Solway, 
To me thou still art dear!
Een from the verge of Heaven 
I drop for thee a tear.
Oh! if one soul from Anwoth 
Meet me at Gods right hand,
My Heaven will be two Heavens, 
In Immanuels land.

I have wrestled on towards Heaven,
Gainst storm, and wind, and tide:
Now, like a weary traveller, 
That leaneth on his guide, 
Amid the shades of evening,
While sinks lifes lingring sand, 
I hail the glory dawning
From Immanuels land.

Deep waters crossd lifes pathway, 
The hedge of thorns was sharp;
Now these lie all behind me
Oh! for a well-tuned harp!
Oh! to join Halleluiah
With yon triumphant band,

Who sing, where glory dwelleth, In Immanuels land.

With mercy and with judgment 
My web of time He wove,
And aye the dews of sorrow 
Were lustred with His love. 
Ill bless the hand that guided,
Ill bless the heart that plannd, 
When throned where glory dwelleth
In Immanuels land.

Soon shall the cup of glory
Wash down earth
s bitterest woes,

Soon shall the desert-briar 
Break into Edens rose:
The curse shall change to blessing
The name on earth thats bannd,
Be graven on the white stone 
In Immanuels land.

Oh! I am my Belovèds, 
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 e
en where glory dwelleth

In Immanuels land.

I shall sleep sound in Jesus, 
Filld with His likeness rise,
To live and to adore Him,
To see Him with these eyes.

Tween me and resurrection 
But Paradise doth stand;
Thenthen for glory dwelling 
In Immanuels land!

The Bride eyes not her garment, 
But her dear Bridegrooms face;
I will not gaze at glory,
But on my King of Grace

Not at the crown He gifteth, 
But on His piercèd hand:
The Lamb is all the glory 
Of Immanuels land.

I have borne scorn and hatred,
I have borne wrong and shame,

Earths proud ones have reproachd me, 
For Christs thrice blessed name:
Where God His seal set fairest 
Theyve stampd their foulest brand;
But judgment shines like noonday 
In Immanuels land.

Theyve 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 gloryglory dwelleth In Immanuels land.

I have asked this be sung a my funeral - as many verses as they can manage!

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