Our desires are so limited

The Fatted Calf

The world so easily satisfies

We spurn heaven’s holy feasts

Contented with mudpies

We find we’re feasting with the swine

When a banquet waits at home

Casting down our treasures

Nothing’s sacred where we roam.

But my father owns the cattle

Upon a thousand hills

For every prodigal that returns

Another fatted calf he kills

But only when repentance

Becomes the better part

It takes a contrite spirit

To break a prodigal heart

The world has nothing to compare

To the wonders of the grace

The father showers on us

No treasure can replace

The blessedness of wonder

Dwelling with Him gives

An overflowing cup of joy

His resurrection lives!

#986

Anthony Foster

1-19-98