Poems/hymns often record the happiness and sorrows of individuals.  However in the 1800’s Anne Ross Cousin, who was a hymnwriter, was so inspired by the life of Samuel Rutherford that she composed a 19 stanza poem regarding his struggles.  The poem later was shortened to just a few stanzas and is still found in hymnbooks.
     The following is from the book The Story of the Hymns and Tunes by Theron Brown and Hezekiah Butterworth.

     This hymn is biographical, but not autobiographical.  Like the discourses in Herodotus and Plutarch, it is the voice of the dead speaking through the sympathetic genius of the living after long generations.  The strong, stern Calvinist of 1636 in Aberdeen was not a poet, but he bequeathed his spirit and life to the verse of a poet of 1845 in Melrose.  Anne Ross Cousin read his two hundred and twenty letters written during a two years' captivity for his fidelity to the purer faith, and studied his whole history and experience till her soul took his soul's place and felt what he felt.  Her poem of nineteen stanzas (152 lines) is the voice of Rutherford the Covenanter, with the prolixity of his manner and age sweetened by his triumphant piety, and that is why it belongs with the Hymns of Great Witnesses......
     Samuel Rutherford was born in Nisbet Parish, Scotland, in 1600.  His settled ministry was at Anworth, in Galloway—1630-1651—with a break between 1636 and 1638, when Charles I, angered by his anti-prelatical writings, silenced and banished him.   Shut up in Aberdeen, but allowed, like Paul in Rome, to live "in his own hired house" and write letters, he poured out his heart's love in Epistles to his Anworth flock and to the Non-conformists of Scotland.  When his countrymen rose against the attempted imposition of a new holy Romish service-book on their churches, he escaped to his people, and soon after appeared in Edinburgh and signed the covenant with the assembled ministers.  Thirteen years later, after Cromwell's death and the accession of Charles II, the wrath of the prelates fell on him at St. Andrews, where the Presbytery had made him rector of the college.  The King's decree indicted him for treason, stripped him of all his offices, and would have forced him to the block had he not been stricken with his last sickness.  When the officers came to take him he said, "I am summoned before a higher Judge and Judicatory, and I am behooved to attend them."  He died soon after, in the year 1661.

NOTE:  In 1644, Samuel Rutherford wrote the book, LEX REX (Law is King or the Law and the Prince). This book argued for limited government, and limitations on the current idea of the Divine Right of Kings.  However in 1660 when Charles II was declared King, the book was officially burned and in the fall of 1660 Samuel Rutherford found himself confined to his house and facing a charge of high treason before Parliament.  But early in 1661 a serious illness intervened which resulted in the writing of his last will on March 8.  His death on March 29, 1661, took him forever away from banishment, hardships, etc., and brought him at last to Heaven and his Immanuel's land.

Below is the poem in its complete form:

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.

O 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 Immanuel’s land.

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.

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 fanned
Where 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.

Oft in yon sea beat prison My Lord and I held tryst,
For Anwoth was not heaven, and preaching was not Christ:
And aye, my murkiest storm cloud was by a rainbow spanned,
Caught from the glory dwelling in Immanuel’s land.

But that He built a Heaven of His surpassing love,
A little new Jerusalem, like to the one above,
“Lord take me over the water” hath been my loud demand,
Take me to my love’s own country, unto Immanuel’s 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 scanned
But glory shadeless shineth in Immanuel’s land.

The little birds of Anwoth, I used to count them blessed,
Now, beside happier altars I go to build my nest:
Over these there broods no silence, no graves around them stand,
For glory, deathless, dwelleth in Immanuel’s land.

Fair Anwoth by the Solway, to me thou still art dear,
Even from 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.

I’ve wrestled on towards Heaven, against 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 from 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.

O 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 even where glory dwelleth in Immanuel’s land.

I shall sleep sound in Jesus, filled with His likeness rise,
To love 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.

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.

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.
                                                 Anne R. Cousin


Below is how the song frequently is found in hymnbooks:

        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.

        O 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 e'en where glory dwelleth
        In Emmanuel's land.
                                                   Anne R. Cousin