"I will arise and go to my father."
The husks of sense are sheer futility.
I glimpse the mansions of my home in Spirit
Far in the distance. I will come to Thee.
The joys of sense have left me empty, aching.
Veiled am I with the dust of error's dream.
But there is cleansing and a regal garment,
The robe of Spirit, without rent or seam—
And this is mine! I am a child of Spirit!
Fully awakened, to myself I come;
A son beloved has heard the Father's greeting,
And now and always knows himself at home.
