From Every Stormy Wind

From ev­ery stor­my wind that blows

From eve­ry swell­ing tide of woes

There is a calm

a sure 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 be­sides more sweet;

It is the blood bought mer­cy seat.

There is a scene where spir­its blend

Where friend holds fel­low­ship with friend;

Though sun­dered far

by faith they 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 suf­fer­ing saints no mer­cy-seat?

There

there

on ea­gles’ 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.

Oh

let my hand for­get her skill

My tongue be si­lent

cold

and still

This bound­ing heart for­get to beat

If I for­get the mer­cy seat!