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 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 shadows creep,
And though many the years have been
Since then, I can hear the mother ask,
“Are all the children in?”
I wonder if, when the shadows fall,
On the last short earthly day,
When we say good-bye to the world outside,
All tired with 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?”
ML-12/14/1980