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-stained mercy-seat.
There is a spot where spirits blend, Where friend holds fellowship with friend, Though sunder’d 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 suffering saints no mercy-seat?
There, there on eagle wings we soar, And time and sense seem all no more, And heaven comes down our souls to greet, And glory crowns the mercy seat. Amin.