FROM EVERY STORMY WIND THAT BLOWS

From every stormy wind that blows,
From every swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm, a safe retreat;
'Tis found beneath the Mercy-seat.

There is a place where Jesus sheds
The oil of gladness on our heads,
A place than all beside more sweet;
It is the blood-stained Mercy-seat.

There is a spot where spirits blend,
Where friend holds fellowship with friend;
Though sundered far, by faith we meet
Around one common Mercy-seat.

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?

There, there on eagle-wing we soar,
And time and sense appear no more;
There heav'nly joys our spirits greet,
And glory crowns the Mercy-seat.