At journey's end I falter. The long road
They name repentance is a weary climb
Out of the pigsty to my Father's house;
But He has waited for me all the time.
See, his arms stretched, but are they stretched for me?
Surely that tender smile upon His face
Is for another? No, I cannot go
And risk refusal of that yearned embrace.
But, while I stand, ashamed and hesitant,
He has come down to meet me where I am,
Leading me on the last steps to my home
Off'ring, for fatted calf, a slain lamb.
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