This is the time the boys come home from school,

Filling the house with gay and happy noise,

Never at rest from morn till evening cool --

All the roads of the world bring home the boys.

This is the time -- but still they are not come;

The mothers stand in the doorway listening long;

Long, long they shall wait ere the boys come home.

Where do they tarry, the dear, the light-heart throng?

Their feet are heavy as lead and deep their rest.

The mothers watch the road till set of sun;

But nevermore the birds fly back to the nest.

The roads of the world run Heavenward every one.