Words by Mrs. Sigourney. Music by G.W.C.
[Music]
From every stormy wind that blows,
From every 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 sundered far, by faith we meet,
Around one common Mercy-Seat.
Ah! whither could we flee for aid,
When hunted, scourged, oppressed, dismayed,--
Or how our bloody foes defeat,
Had suffering slaves no 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.
Friend of the Friendless.
God of my life! to thee I call,
Afflicted at thy feet I fall;
When the great water-floods prevail,
Leave not my trembling heart to fail.
Friend of the friendless and the faint!
Where should I lodge my deep complaint?
Where but with thee, whose open door
Invites the helpless and the poor?
Did ever mourner plead with thee,
And thou refuse that mourner's plea?
Does not thy word still fixed remain,
That none shall seek thy face in vain?
Poor though I am, despised, forgot,
Yet God, my God forgets me not;
And he is safe, he must succeed,
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead.