Blue, White, Wedding Flower with I will praise the Lord my Glory and The sands of time are sinking

I will praise the Lord my Glory,
I will praise the Lord my Light;
He my cloud by day to cover,
He my fire to guide by night.

I will praise the Lord my Prophet,
Holy Priest and Righteous King;
With the angels who adore Him,
“Holy, holy,” I will sing.

I will praise the Lord my Shepherd,
Keeper, Pasture, Door and Fold;
O’er the lonely hills He sought me,
When the night was dark and cold.

I will praise the Lord my Father,
Saviour, Brother, Guide and Friend;
He thus far in life hath led me,
He will lead me to the end.

I will love Him, I will trust Him,
All the remnant of my days;
And will sing thro’ endless ages,
Only my Redeemer’s praise.

Chorus
I will praise Thee with my whole heart,
will praise Thee, O Lord;
I will be glad and rejoice in Thee,
O Thou most high.

  El. Nathan

2 Different versions but both by Anne R. Cousin

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 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 fulness
  His mercy doth expand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
    In Emmanuel’s land.

With mercy and with judgment
  My web of time He wove,
And aye the dews of sorrow
  Were lustred by His love:
I’ll bless the hand that guided,
  I’ll bless the heart that planned,
When throned where glory dwelleth
    In Emmanuel’s land.
Anne R. Cousin


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 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.

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 safer stand,
Not e’en where glory dwelleth,
  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.
Anne Ross Cousin