A wayward son, with riches rashly claimed,
Forsook his father’s house for fleeting glee,
Till famine’s grip his squandered life defamed,
And husks of swine awoke his misery.
In shame he turned, his steps a sinner’s plea,
To seek the home he’d spurned in prideful roam,
Our Heavenly Father, ever fain to free,
Awaits with grace to welcome wanderers home.
His arms outstretched, no scorn for follies past,
He robes the lost in mercy’s fine array,
Though righteous tongues may judge the feast too vast,
The elder’s ire fades in love’s display.
So sinners find, through dust of wayward years,
A Father’s heart that dries repentant tears.