The Prodigal Son (Guild)

Here feast I at my Fa­ther’s board

Who starved among the swine;

For me must ev­ery foot be fleet

And ev­ery lamp must shine;

For me the mer­ry mu­sic sounds

The danc­ers dip and twine.

My heart beats fast against my robe

The best robe

soft and red;

With sob­bing breath and tight­en­ing throat

And tears in rap­ture shed

I feel His ring up­on my hand

His bless­ings on my head.

Ah

bit­ter was the way

and oft

My blood my path would trace;

And guilt and grief and stab­bing shame

With all my steps kept pace;

And yet I fam­ished not for bread

So sore as for His face.

The road seemed end­less. On I fared

Wresting each mile from death;

Then such an awe upon me fell

I scarce could draw my breath;

My spir­it felt His com­ing as

Of one that suc­cor­eth.

Blind

faint­ing

to His mig­hty breast

He caught and held me fast;

I knew the fort­ress of His arms

About my weak­ness cast;

And

when He kissed my trai­tor cheek

I guessed His heart at last.

The pi­te­ous words I oft had conned

I trem­bling strove to say;

But sud­den glo­ry round me poured

A bright­er

rich­er day.

In won­de­rment I lift­ed up

My head that droop­ing lay.

The glo­ry streamed from out His eyes

As from all Beau­ty’s throne.

O depths of love un­think­able

That in that splen­dor shone!

O pain of love that tra­vail­eth

And bleedeth for its own.

O gleam of wisdom hoar with eld

Ere sang the stars of morn!

O shift­ing

blend­ing

dazz­ling lights

That thrilled my hope for­lorn

To un­dreamed mir­acles of joy

And surge of life re­born!

He brought me home

and here I sit

Even in my boy­hood’s place;

And on my ve­ry soul is stamped

Each larg­ess of His grace;

But still trans­fig­ur­ing all I see

That ra­di­ance of His face!