“But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet:And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry: For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.” Luke 15:22-24
Thou who givest of Thy gladness Till the cup runs o'er - Cup whereof the pilgrim weary Drinks to thirst no more - Not a-nigh me, but within me Is Thy joy divine; Thou, O Lord, hast made Thy dwelling In this heart of mine. Need I that a law should bind me Captive unto Thee? Captive is my heart, rejoicing Never to be free. Ever with me, glorious, awful, Tender, passing sweet, One upon whose heart I rest me, Worship at His Feet. With me, wheresoe'r I wander, That great Presence goes, That unutterable gladness, Undisturbed repose. Everywhere the blessed stillness Of His Holy Place - Stillness of the love that worships Dumb before His Face. To Thy house, O God my Father, Thy lost child is come: Led by wandering lights no longer, I have found my home. Over moor and fen I tracked them Through the midnight blast, But to find the Light eternal In my heart at last.
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