527. 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. There, there, on angel’s wings we soar, And earthly cares molest no more, And heaven comes down our souls to greet, And glory crowns the mercy seat. Ah! whither should we flee for aid, When tempted, desolate dismayed? Or how the hosts of sin defeat, Had suffering saints no mercy seat?