1
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.
2
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.
3
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?
4
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.
5
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.