384 | Retreat. L.M.
(787) The Mercy-Seat.
From every stormy wind that blows,
From every swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm, a sure retreat;—
’Tis found before the mercy-seat.
2 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.
3 There is a spot where spirits blend,
Where friend holds fellowship with friend;
Though sundered far, by faith they meet
Around one common mercy-seat.
4 There, there, on eagle’s 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!
5 Oh! 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!
Hugh Stowell, 1827.