Sometimes to human consciousness may come
The errant whisper to step forth from home,
To leave the haven of the Father's house
For the fitful beauty of the mortal storm,
The aching longing and the fevered hope,
The fascination of the promise unfulfilled.
And, as step by step, inexorably,
The defrauding promise fails,
Desolation haunts the heart of him
Who sought this lonely path until,
Prodigal-wise, he wakes to find
His Father's house at hand
And all his needs clearly defined
And richly met, and knows, at last,
He is his Father's own dear son—none other;
He sees, in sweet relief and gratitude,
God's tender care for prodigal and brother.
At home—within our Father's house—
Is found the flawless beauty of all pure desire,
Of radiant morning and the daystar fully risen,
A beauty purged of fantasy and fear,
Free from agony and pride;
A beauty richly magnified
By the lens of Spirit;
Exalted, deeply purified
With the integrity of Soul;
A loveliness never denied
The perfect sense of wholeness,
A beauty with completeness satisfied.
