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Wednesday, August 6, 2014

Stormy Fields with Peace, doubting heart! my God's I am and From every stormy wind that blows

  Peace, doubting heart!  my God’s I am;
  Who formed me man forbids my fear;
The Lord hath called me by my name;
  The Lord protects, forever near:
His blood for me did once atone,
And still he loves and guards his own.

  When, passing through the watery deep,
  I ask in faith his promised aid,
The waves an awful distance keep,
  And shrink from my devoted head:
Fearless, their violence I dare;
They cannot harm for God is there!

  To him mine eye of faith I turn,
  And through the fire pursue my way;
The fire forgets its power to burn,
  The lambent flames around me play;
I own his power, accept the sign,
And shout to prove the Saviour mine.

  Still nigh me, O my Saviour, stand,
  And guard in fierce temptation’s hour;
Hide in the hollow of thy hand;
  Show forth in me thy saving power;
Still be thy arms my sure defense,
Nor earth, nor hell, shall pluck me thence.
                   Charles Wesley

From every stormy wind that blows,
From every 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 bloodstained mercy-seat.

There is a spot where spirits blend,
Where friend holds fellowship with friend,
Though 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 suffering saints no mercy-seat?

There, there on eagle 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.

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.
                       Rev. Hugh Stowell

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