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.