Does that lamp still burn in my Father's house, Which he kindled the night I went away? I turned once beneath the cedar boughs, And marked it gleam with a golden ray; Did he think to light me home some day? Hungry here with the crunching swine, Hungry harvest have I to reap; In a dream I count my Father's kine, I hear the tinkling bells of his sheep, I watch his lambs that browse and leap. There is plenty of bread at home, His servants have bread enough and to spare; The purple wine-fat froths with foam, Oil and spices make sweet the air, While I perish hungry and bare. Rich and blessed those servants, rather Than I who see not my Father's face! I will arise and go to my Father: -- "Fallen from sonship, beggared of grace, Grant me, Father, a servant's place." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CHILDREN by CHARLES MONROE DICKINSON ODES: BOOK 1. ODE 1. PREFACE by MARK AKENSIDE ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 11. ON LOVE - TO A FRIEND by MARK AKENSIDE SONNET: TO L.T. IN FLORENCE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH AMONG THE HEATHER by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM DAY AND NIGHT SONGS by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM I WOULD BE THE SUN by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS |