I think oft times as the night draws nigh

Of an old house on the hill

Where the children played at will;

And when the night at last came down,

Hushing the merry din;

Mother would look around and ask,

“Are all the children in?”

Tis many and many a year since then,

And the old house on the hill

No longer echoes to childish feet,

And the yard is still, so still.

But I see it all as the shadows creep,

And though many the years have been,

Since then, I can hear my mother ask,

“Are all the children in?”

I wonder if when the shadows fall

On the last short earthly day;

When we say goodbye to the world outside,

All tired with our childish play;

When we step out into that other land

Where mother so long has been,

Will we hear her ask, just as of old,

“Are all the children in?”

Author Unknown