Mercy Seat

From Ev'ry Stormy Wind that Blows Words: Hugh Stowell, 1828 Tune: Retreat, L.M., by Thomas Hastings, 1842 Harmonized by: Rhys Thomas, 1916

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-stained mercy-seat. 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. 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 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. 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.