From Every Stormy Wind That Blows

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.

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.

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!

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.

Ah! there on eagle wings we soar,
And sin and sense molest no more:
and heav'n comes down our souls to greet,
While glory crowns the mercy seat.

A Hymn by Hugh Stowell - 1799–1865