516.
Parable 12.
The Prodigal's Return. Luke xv.
1
With hunger press'd, and toss'd with pain,
The prodigal repents too late;
Wheree'er he goes, he wears a chain,
The memory of his fallen state:
At length he cries, oppress'd with woe,
“I to my father's house will go!”
2
While yet far distant from his home,
The father, joyful, sees his child!
He hastes! he cries,—“No longer roam!
“My son! my son!” in accents mild;
“Though thou hast wander'd far, and long,
“My wrath is weak, my love is strong!”
3
“Father! my crimes deserve thine ire!”
The son, with faltering voice replies,
“I am not worthy”—See the sire
Fall on his neck, 'mid tears and sighs!
Silence, impressive, marks the air!
Unutterable thoughts are there!
4
And shall not God the welcome give
To the lost sheep that back return?
Shall, in the Highest, anger live,
While mortals with compassion yearn?
The Lord, both pitiful and kind,
Will cast his children's sins behind!
5
Come, sinner! wretched as thou art,
Thy heavenly Father waits to greet!
Thou hast a place within his heart!
He sits upon a mercy seat!
With such an Advocate to plead!
Trust him, in this thy hour of need!
6
Who, that to Christ for pardon came,
Was e'er rejected! Come and try!
There is deliverance in his name!
Why wilt thou, wretched sinner, die!
Call on the Saviour! Blood divine
Hath wash'd out deeper stains than thine!
