Oh! 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;

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;

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;

And glory, glory dwelleth
In my Immanuel's land.

Not e'en where glory dwelleth
In my Immanuel's land.

The Lamb is all the glory
Of my Immanuel's land.