From Every Stormy Wind That Blows
1 FROM every stormy wind that blows,
From every swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm, a sweet retreat;
'Tis found before the mercy-seat.
2 There is a place where mercy sheds
The oil of gladness on our heads,
A place than all beside more sweet:
It is the heavenly mercy-seat.
3 There is a spot where souls unite,
And saint meets saint in heavenly light;
Though sundered far, by faith they meet
Before the common mercy-seat.
4 Ah, whither could we flee for aid
When tempted, desolate, dismayed?
Or how the hosts of hell defeat,
Had suffering saints no mercy-seat?
5 Thither by faith we'd upward soar,
Let time and sense seem all no more;
For freely God our souls can greet
Where glory crowns the mercy-seat.