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 nighttime brought us home, hushing our merry din
Mother would look around and ask, "Are all the children in?"
Well, it's been many a year now and the old house on the hill
No longer has my mother's care and the yard is still, so still
But if I listen, I can hear it all, no matter how long it's 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 goodbye 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 a final time, "Are all the children in?"
(I come)