Prodigal

In miry clay obscurity
I squandered my inheritance
A potsherds insincerity
Kiln-broken, crushed to penitence

Begging food I supped with swine
Deep hunger was my souls lament
Unworthy to be called thy son
To be thy slave was my intent

When from afar thou sawest me
And sped my the compassion cup
The fatted calf gave mercy meat
The bitter dregs were swallowed up

Oh Father. . .

May I bend my will and cleave to thine
May I render thee my soul in fine
My heart, my life thou gavest me
All gratitude be unto thee!