Afflictions, though they seem se­vere,
In mer­cy oft are sent;
They stopped the pro­di­gal’s ca­reer,
And forced him to re­pent.

Although he no re­lent­ings felt
Till he had spent his store;
His stub­born heart be­gan to melt
When fa­mine pinched him sore.

“What have I gained by sin, he said,
But hun­ger, shame, and fear;
My fa­ther’s house abounds with bread,
While I am starv­ing here.

I’ll go, and tell him all I’ve done,
And fall be­fore his face
Unworthy to be called his son,
I’ll seek a ser­vant’s place.

His fa­ther saw him com­ing back,
He saw, and ran, and smiled;
And threw his arms around the neck
Of his re­bel­lious child.

Fa­ther, I’ve sinned—but O for­give!
I’ve heard enough, he said,
“Rejoice my house, my son’s alive,
For whom I mourned as dead.

Now let the fat­ted calf be slain,
And spread the news around;
My son was dead, but lives again,
Was lost, but now is found.

’Tis thus the Lord His love re­veals,
To call poor sin­ners home;
More than a fa­ther’s love He feels,
And welc­omes all that come.