I think ofttimes as the night draws nigh
Of an old house on the hill,
Of a yard all wide and blossom-starred,
Where 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,
I still can hear my mother ask,
"Are all the children in?"

When we step into the Other land,
Where Mother so long has been,
Will we hear her ask, just as of old,
"Are all the children in?"

Author Unknown