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W. Garrett Horder, comp. The Poets’ Bible: New Testament. 1895.

A Prodigal Son

Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830–1894)

DOES that lamp still burn in my Father’s house,

Which he kindled the night I went away?

I turned once beneath the cedar boughs,

And marked it gleam with a golden ray;

Did he think to light me home some day?

Hungry here with the crunching swine,

Hungry harvest have I to reap;

In a dream I count my Father’s kine,

I hear the tinkling bells of his sheep

I watch his lambs that browse and leap.

There is plenty of bread at home,

His servants have bread enough and to spare;

The purple wine-fat froths with foam,

Oil and spices make sweet the air,

While I perish hungry and bare.

Rich and blessed those servants, rather

Than I who see not my Father’s face!

I will arise and go to my Father,—

“Fallen from sonship, beggared of grace,

Grant me Father, a servant’s place.”