I think ofttimes as the night draws nigh
Of an old house on the hill,
Of a yard all wide & blossom-starred
Where the children played at will.
And when the night at last came down,
Hushing the merry din,
Mother would look around & ask,
“Are all the children in?”

“Tis many & 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,
Even now, I can hear my mother ask,
“Are all the children in?”

I wonder if, when the shadows fall
On the last short, earthly day,
When we say goodbye to the world outside,
All tired with our childish play,
When we step out into that Other Land
Where mother so long has been,
Will we hear her ask, as we did of old, “Are all the children in ?”

And I wonder, too, what the Lord will say,
To us older children of His,
Have we cared for the lambs? Have we showed them the fold?
A privilege joyful it is.
And I wonder, too, what our answers will be,
When His loving questions begin:
“Have you heeded My voice? Have you told of My love?
Have you brought My children in?”