Are All the Children Home?
By Robert Hare
The twilight deepens, day is done,
And sunset glories leave the west!
The wood grows silent, and apace
The song-birds seek their nest.
Yes, day is done; perhaps thy toil,
Since now the night has come.
But are your birdlings all at rest?
Are all the children home? Perhaps behind the gloom there lies
A tempest deep and wild;
Some storm-born spirit might destroy
Thy wandering, helpless child.
But darker than the gloom of night,
Where thoughtless footsteps roam,
The paths of wickedness are spread—
Are all the children home? What hand can shield them but thine own?
What lips should whisper love so sweet?
What heart like thine could so inspire
With hopes that make complete?
Then, art thou living for the hour?
Sunlight has left your dome!
Gather thy treasures ere too late—
Are all the children home? The night has come, O kingdom child,
Born for hope's destiny,
What of thy flock, thy beauteous flock?
Are they all safe with thee?
All safe? What of the erring one,
Whose footsteps distant roam
Out in the darkness? God of heaven,
Are all the children home? Great Father, when the trumpet blast
Rings from the upper skies,
And when from out the silent dust
The dead in Christ arise,
Wilt thou in mercy to us all,
When earth's last night has come,
From crimsoned sea and riven plain,
Gather the children home?