1 From ev'ry stormy wind that blows,
From ev'ry swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm, a sure retreat,
'Tis found beneath the mercy-seat.
2 There is a place where Jesus sheds
The oil of gladness on our heads,
A place than all besides more sweet;
It is the blood-stained mercy-seat.
3 There is a spot where spirits blend,
Where friend holds fellowship with friend,
Tho' sundered far; by faith they meet
Around the common mercy-seat.
4 Ah, whither could we flee for aid,
When tempted, desolate, dismayed,
Or how the hosts of hell defeat,
Had suff'ring saints no mercy-seat?
5 There, there on eagle wings we soar,
And time and sense seem all no more,
And heav'n comes down our souls to greet,
And glory crowns the mercy-seat.
6 O may my hand forget her skill,
My tongue be silent, cold, and still,
This bounding heart forget to beat,
If I forget the mercy-seat.
|First Line:||From ev'ry stormy wind that blows|
|Author:||Hugh Stowell (1828, 1831)|
|Topic:||Christian Life: Prayer; Mercy-seat; Prayer: Encouragement in|
|Composer:||Thomas Hastings (1842)|
|Harmonizer:||Rhys Thomas (1916)|