  THEY sat alone by the fireside, a couple old and gray, Brooding over a sorrow keen at the close of a winter’s day. The woman spake to the man at length, tenderly, wistfully, “The pillar of fire still guides by night, the cloud still guides by day. If you would but take the ills of life, the losses, the sorrow vain, To the One whose ear is open to hear each cry of pain! You are thinking now of Willie, the boy we loved so well, And who left his home to wander—whither—Ah, who can tell! His room stands just as he left it—I go upstairs each day And smooth the pillows with my hands, and for my darling pray. He may not have—sometimes my heart grows fairly sick with dread— In cold, or storm, or in sickness, a place to lay his head. My heart would break did I not know the Father of us all Stoops down to make my sorrow less, counts all the tears that fall. You will not turn where comfort lies, towards Him you will not move, O husband, give the Lord your heart—prove, prove His faithful love.” “If I had sought the Lord,” said he, “when youth and strength were mine, I might have had to cheer me now as dear a faith as thine. But God is just, His laws so stern, I’ve broken year by year, God is a judge—I feel that now—just, holy, and severe. I scorn to seek Him after all the years I’ve walked in sin— ’Tis too near to life’s ending now for me to just begin. My heart lies heavy in my breast, but I must bear my load, My pride has kept me all along a sad and dreary road. Yes, I’m thinking, wife, of Willie, the boy who went away— Thoughts of him fill the heart of me when comes this time of day. I watch you praying for his soul, a light in your dear e’e, Methinks a soul from heaven itself might well come back to see. But I—I cannot pray at all; the words they will not come, My soul rebels and will not bow—my boy is far from home. My lad I was so proud of, though often I was stern, Wilful was he, but ah, to-night for his presence I yearn.” There’s a step on the walk outside, trembling hands at the door, And some one is kneeling by them, sobbing out o’er and o’er: “Father, your prodigal has come, unworthy of your name, Broken in spirit, buffeted, baptised with bitter shame. But say forgiven, and lay your hand on me in the old way; Pride kept me long from you, but I had to come home to-day.” Such a welcome he got from them—the old love changeth not, Faithful to death, unswerving—miracles hath it wrought. The father turned a glowing face, and whispered: Let us pray, My pride has kept me long from God, but I’ll go home to-day. And then with the firelight shining, leaving his heavy load, A prodigal old and hoary came tremblingly back to God. He knew the truth, deep as the sea, high as the heaven above, Knew that the Fatherhood of God was made and crowned with Love. |
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