Are All the Children In?

I think ofttimes, 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 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 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 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 tried with our childish play,

When we meet the Lover of boys and girls,

Whose own we have always been,

Will we hear Him ask as Mother did,

“Are all the children in?”

Author Unknown