From every stormy wind that blows

1From every stormy wind that blows, From every swelling tide of woes, There is a calm, a sure retreat, 'Tis found beneath the mercy-seat.

2There 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.

3There is a scene where spirits blend, Where friend holds fellowship with friend; Though sundered far, by faith they meet Around one common mercy-seat.

4Ah! whither should we flee for aid, When tempted, desolate, dismayed; Or how the hosts of hell defeat, Had suffering saints no mercy-seat?