There’s a path to the house from the meadow,
Leading home from the dark forest’s gloom,
Well-worn by the feet of your Father,
As He fought, ran, and chased after you.
There’s a house with a room for you, child,
Where you’ll sleep and you’ll rest every night,
And you need not cry alone anymore,
Your Father will make all wrongs right.
There’s a place at the table, dear sibling,
You don’t need someone to make room,
For your Father invited you in here,
And He set a place just for you.