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by Anonymous Extracted from Poems and Hymns

I think of times as the night draws nigh
of an old house on the hill,
of a yard all wide and blossom-starred
where the children played at will.

And when deep night at last came down,
hushing the merry din,
mother would look all 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 childish feet and the yard is still, so still.

And I see it all as the shadows creep,
and tho’ many the years have been
since then, I can hear my mother ask,
“Are all the children in?”

I wonder if, when those shadows fall
on the last short earthly day,
when we say goodbye to the world outside,
all tired of our childish play,

When we meet the Lover of boys and girls
Who died to save them from sin,
will we hear Him ask as mother did,
“Are all the children in?”