Ethelwyn Wetherald

Prodigal Yet

 
 
MUCK of the sty, reek of the trough,
 Blackened my brow where all might see,
Yet while I was a great way off
 My Father ran with compassion for me.
 
He put on my hand a ring of gold,
  (There’s no escape from a ring, they say)
He put on my neck a chain to hold
 My passionate spirit from breaking away.
 
He put on my feet the shoes that miss
 No chance to tread in the narrow path;
He pressed on my lips the burning kiss
 That scorches deeper than fires of wrath.
 
He filled my body with meat and wine,
 He flooded my heart with love’s white light;
Yet deep in the mire, with sensual swine,
 I long–God help me!–to wallow to-night.
 
Muck of the sty, reek of the trough,
 Blacken my soul where none may see.
Father, I yet am a long way off–
 Come quickly, Lord! Have compassion on me!
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