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1858–1924

POEM: THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN

Edith Nesbit

I reach my hand to thee! Stoop; take my hand in thine; Lead me where I would be, Father divine.

I do not even know The way I want to go, The way that leads to rest: But, Thou who knowest me,

Lead where I cannot see, Thou knowest best. Toys, worthless, yet desired, Drew me afar to roam.

Father, I am so tired; I am come home. The love I held so cheap I see, so dear, so deep,

So almost understood. Life is so cold and wild, I am thy little child - I WILL be good.

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POEM: THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN · Edith Nesbit · Poetry Cove