My Father's house has plenty and to spare;I hunger in a country far away.The satisfying bread of Life is there;I will arise and journey home to-day,Not as a mendicant, to ask a dole,Nor as a son deserving love and grace.Only to breathe the atmosphere of SoulAs recompense, I'll seek a servant's place,That I may prove my worthiness to beAbout my Father's business constantly,Until He whispers: Love has made amend.I call you not a servant but a friend.

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