Are all the Children In

When I'm alone I often think
of an old house on the hill.
Of a big yard hedged in roses
where we ran and played at will.

And when the night time brought us home
hushing our merry den.
Mother would look around and ask
Are all the children in?

Well its been many a year now
and the old house on the hill
No longer has my mothers care
and the yard is still
so still

But if I listen I can hear it all
No matter how long its been
I seem to hear my mother ask
Are all the children in?

And I wonder when the curtain falls
on that last earthly day
when we say good bye to all of this
to our pain, and work, and play

When we step across the river
where mother so long has been.
Will we hear her ask the final time
Are all the children in?