Ballad of the Prodigal Son - Winter

This ballad was written by was written by American Roman Catholic and Medical Mission Sister Miriam Therese Winter (b 1938). It is based on the parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32).

It was originally included in Winter's 1966 collection "I Know the Secret", which was accompanied by a record released by Advante Garde Records (ref). This is now out of print but copies are often available on Amazon.

It was also included in An Anthology of Scripture Songs released by the Medical Missions Sisters in 1982 - this is also out of print but available on Amazon.


The Return of the Prodigal Son - a painting from the Neopolital school circa 1630 -  representative image for song



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Examples

Original recording:


Lyrics

The lyrics are copyright so cannot be reproduced here. But they are currently available on this website. A rough outline is:
1 There was a man and he had two sons ..

Refrain
The father waited, alleluia. The father waited, the days were long,
his faith grew deeper and his love grew stronger, alleluia, alleluia.

2 The boy went wild, his ways were free ...

3 The boy cried out: “I’m feeding swine ...

4 The boy returned to his father’s land.
... It is my son, alleluia!

5 Kill the fatted calf, bring the golden ring ...

See more ...


KEEP IN CASE ORIGINAL IS REMOVED, BUT DO NOT DISPLAY
1 There was a man and he had two sons; the younger one was but a boy when he asked for his inheritance that he might enjoy what life had to offer and he left his homeland. Refrain The father waited, alleluia. The father waited, the days were long, his faith grew deeper and his love grew stronger, alleluia, alleluia. 2 The boy went wild, his ways were free. He squandered all his property. Then one day there came a famine, and he knew want and he knew hunger, and he was lonely. 3 The boy cried out: I’m feeding swine while my father’s house abounds with wine. I will go home to my father and I will say I am unworthy to be called a son. 4 The boy returned to his father’s land. He longed to be but a hired hand. Far across the vacant valley the father saw his son returning and he ran to meet him. It is my son, alleluia! 5 Kill the fatted calf, bring the golden ring, fetch the finest robe, make merry and sing. My son who was dead is alive, who was lost has been found, alleluia. My seed has fallen on fertile ground, alleluia, alleluia!

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