219    S.M.     J. Hart
The Prodigal. Luke 15. 11-32

1 Now for a wondrous song,
  (Keep distance, ye profane;
  Be silent, each unhallowed tongue,
  Nor turn the truth to bane,)

2 The prodigal’s returned –
  The rebel bold and base,
  That all his Father’s counsel spurned,
  And long abused his grace.

3 What treatment since he came?
  Love, tenderly expressed.
  What robe is brought to hide his shame?
  The best, the very best.

4 Rich food the servants bring;
  Sweet music charms his ears;
  See what a beauteous, costly ring
  The beggar’s finger wears!

5 [Ye elder sons, be still;
  Give no bad passion vent;
  My brethren, ’tis our Father’s will,
  And you must be content.

6 All that he has is yours!
  Rejoice, then, not repine;
  That love which all your state secures,
  That love has altered mine.]

7 Dear Lord! are these thy ways?
  If rebels thus are freed,
  And favoured with peculiar grace,
  Grace must be free indeed!