You can tell the weather forecasters have been bored lately. All day long I've been getting text alerts warning about the big storm expected tonight. I'm sitting here on the sofa in our school room and can see the lightning in the distance, which has me nervous because the cross country team is having their annual night run tonight (Friday). They think it's fun to run with flashlights and all sorts of neon glow-in-the-dark objects. My dog hates, hates, hates storms, so in about three minutes this hundred pound dog is going to crawl under my bed. No kidding.
I'm switching up my hymn schedule. I was having trouble finding music for the hymn I had planned for Day 4 (and I really love the music, therefore I wanted more time to search), so I moved up Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus. That left an opening for Day 5. So whether this storm is worthy of all the news attention or not, it made me think of this hymn.
I heard this gem for the first time at church several years ago, and as soon as I got home I looked it up in my hymnal and put a star next to it and marked it with a sticky note that is still there today. But then it was never played again. I did request it once, but if it was played, it was on a week I was out of town. I can peck out the tune on the piano, so I still get to hear it enough to confirm it is one of my favorites. Definitely top ten, maybe even top five.
Whatever kind of storms and trials we encounter, we can rest in peace at the mercy seat, the throne of God.
From Every Stormy Wind That Blows
Hugh Stowell, 1828
(the version in my hymnal is a little different than in the video)
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.
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,
Tho' sundered 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 suff'ring saints no mercy seat?
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.
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.