THE PRODIGAL SON.
The prodigal son had wandered
Far away in a foreign land,
And squandered the portion given him
By a father’s bountiful hand.
Alone, as the chill night was falling,
And all through the black dreary day,
The damp wind swept cold from the mountains,
And the sky was sodden and gray.
Famishing, weary, and forsaken,
Poor wanderer, thy ruin’s complete;
Thou fain wouldst have appeased thy hunger
With the mere husks the swine did eat.
Where now are the friends that lured thee
To scenes of mad folly and vice?—
False friends that thy wealth had purchased
At such grievous sacrifice.
Heavily the chill rain was beating
On his poor defenceless head;
None but the Heavenly Father knew
Of the repentant tears he shed.
“How many servants of my father
Have bread enough and to spare,
And I perish here of fierce hunger?”
His cry rang out on the air.
But list! he prays for deliv’rance
In very throes of despair;
His sobs pierce the night, and e’en heaven
Is moved by that passionate prayer.
And a holy voice whispered “Peace!
Thy sins are forgiven thee;
Henceforth let thy life be stainless;
Rise up, go forth, and be free.”
Then the rain ceased its dreary beating,
The wind sank to a gentle sigh;
The moon looked forth in her beauty,
Silvering earth and the vault on high.
And blest was that son worn and weary
As he sank to restful repose,
And in dreams his spirit wandered
To the land of the vine and rose.
And just as the sun lit the mountains,
And in glory shone on the lea,
He rose and returned to his father
Far over the wide rolling sea.
And oh, there were hearts filled with rapture
When that wayward son was forgiven;
Voices in prayer and thanksgiving
Ascended like incense to heaven.