Now for a song of praise,

Now for a song of praise,
To our Redeemer God;
Whose glorious works and ways
Proclaim his love abroad;
Ye prodigals, lift up your voice,
And let us all in him rejoice.

A sinner, saved by grace,
And God calls him his son,
From Jesus turned his face,
And from his Father ran;
Spent all he had with harlots base,
And brought himself into disgrace.

And now, in his distress,
A servant he becomes;
Some legalising priest,
Has hired him, it seems;
Then sends him forth to feed his swine,
And husks he now must eat, or pine.

So off the rebel sets,
And to the herd he goes;
Then tries to eat his husks,
But now he feels his woes;
With hunger pinched, he cried and said,
"My Father's house abounds with bread.

"Alas! what can I do?
I starving am for want;
I'll to my Father go,
And tell him my complaint;
I'll tell him, too, how base I am,
Not worthy to be called his son,"

He said, and off he goes
Towards his Father's house,
With neither shoes nor hose,
Nor any other dress,
Except his base and filthy rags,
Of sin and guilt the very dregs.

But O good news of grace!
The Father saw him come,
And, with a smiling face,
He ran to fetch him home;
He ran, and fell upon his neck,
And kissed him, for his mercy's sake.

"Father," the rebel cries,
"I've sinned against thy love;"
The Father then replies,
"Bring hither the best robe;
Yes, bring it forth, and put it on,
For this my son's alive again.

"Put shoes upon his feet,
And on his hand a ring;
Bring forth the fatted calf,
And let us eat and sing;"
And now the Father's house abounds
With joy, and sweet harmonious sounds.