Afflictions, though they seem severe, Are oft in mercy sent; They stop the prodigal's career, And force him to repent. I won't die of hunger here, he cries! I won't die of hunger here, he cries! Nor starve in a foreign land; My father's house has large supplies, And bounteous are his hands Although he no repenting felt, Til he had spent his store; His stubborn heart began to melt, When famine pinched him sore. What have I gained by sin, he said, But hunger, shame, and fear; My father's house abounds with bread, But I am starving here. I'll go, and tell him what I've done, And fall before his face; Not worthy to be called his son, I'll ask to serve his place. He saw his son returning back He looked him and he smiled; And threw his arms around the neck Of his rebellious child.