Music by Thomas Hastings, words by Hugh Stowell
From every stormy wind that blows,
From every swelling tide of woes,
There is a safe, sure hiding place:
It's found before the throne of grace.
There is a place where Jesus sheds
The oil of gladness on our heads,
Where we by faith behold His face,
Who sits upon the throne of grace.
There, as on eagle's wings we soar,
And time and sense seem all no more,
Fresh strength to run our pilgrim race
We gather from the throne of grace.
God's wondrous help in time of need,
Which brings deliverance indeed.
And all His mercy, we may trace
As coming from the throne of grace.
Oh, where else could we flee for aid
When tempted, desolate, dismayed?
How fearful then would be our case,
Had suffering saints no throne of grace!