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The Prodigal Son

The Prodigal Son
(Words by William Aubert Luce)
Music by Martin Broones

Come home to the Father
And open the door,
Come home to the Father,
And wander no more.

O pilgrim and stranger,
No more shall you roam,
The Father is calling
The prodigal home

Come home to your mansions,
Come home to your lands,
The lamps have lighted
By welcoming hands.

The riotous living,
The greed and the gold,
Betrayed you, and left you
In famine and cold.

O traveler, throw off
Your garment dreams,
The fears and failures,
The heartaches and schemes.

The father will give you
A robe and a ring,
A banquet of gladness,
A sweet song to sing.

O lift up the latchkey
And open the door.
Come home to the Father
And wander no more.

Sit down at the table
Prepared from above,
A feast overflowing
With mercy and love.

No punishment threatens
The sorrowing son,
When sin is forsaken,
Forgiveness is won,

From valleys of darkness
Where prodigals roam,
O penitent brother,
Rise up and come home.

Regrets cannot haunt you,
No past can pursue,
The stars of salvation
Will shine over you.

O lift up the latchkey
And open the door.
Come home to the Father
And wander no more.

Come home to the Father
And wander no more.

© 1987