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|
|Title:||From Every Stormy Wind That Blows|
|Author:||Hugh Stowell (1828, 1831)|
|Composer:||Thomas Hastings (1842)|
|Arranger:||Rhys Thomas (1916)|