Classic Poem

From ev'ry stormy wind that blows,
From ev'ry swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm—a sure retreat—
Our refuge is the Mercy-seat.

There is a place where Jesus sheds
The oil of gladness on our heads;
A place than all beside more sweet—
We seek the blood-bought Mercy-Seat.

There is a spot where spirits blend,
Where friend holds fellowship with friend;
Though sunder'd far, by faith we meet,
Around one common Mercy-Seat.

Ah! whither could we flee for aid,
When hunted, scourg'd, oppress'd, dismay'd—
Or how our bloody foes defeat,
Had suff'ring slaves no Mercy-Seat?

There—there on eagle-wing we soar,
Forget our griefs, and weep no more;
Then God delights our souls to greet,
And glory crowns the Mercy-seat.

Oh! let these hands forget their skill,
These tongues be silent, cold, and still,
These throbbing hearts forget to beat,
If we forget the Mercy-Seat.