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 Soul
As recompense, I'll seek a servant's place,
That I may prove my worthiness to be
About 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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