From the windings of the woodlands,
From the valleys deep and cool,
From the rough and stony hillsides,
Come the children home from school.
Oh, the tasks were hard and dreary;
Oh, the hours of toil were long:
Little heads and hands grew weary,
Waiting for the evensong.

Mother lingers at the wicket,
Resting in the shadows cool,
Keeping all her best caresses
For the children home from school.

From the windings of Earth’s woodlands,
From its valleys deep and cool,
From its rough and stony hillsides,
Come the children home from school.
Oh, the tasks were hard and dreary;
Oh, the hours of toil were long;
Heart and head and hands grew weary,
Yearning for the evensong.

To Thine heart, O loving Father,
Take us back from sorrow’s rule;
While the angels whisper softly,
’Tis the children home from school.

Chetwynd Hamilton, The Quivir