←Hymn #341 | Hymn #343→ |
Oh! Christ, He is the fountain,
The deep, sweet well of love:
The streams of earth I've tasted,
More deep I'll drink above.
There, to an ocean fullness,
His mercy doth expand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In my Immanuel's land.
Oh! I am my Beloved's,
And my Beloved's 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 my Immanuel'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 piercèd hand —
The Lamb is all the glory,
Of my Immanuel's land!
←Hymn #341 | Hymn #343→ |