Supper Time

Copyright 1950 by Ira F. Stamphill

When I was but a boy in days of childhood

I used to play till evening shadows come

Then winding down an old familiar pathway

I heard my mother call at set of sun

CHORUS

Come home, come home it’s suppertime

The shadows lengthen fast

Come home, come home it’s suppertime

We’re going home at last

In visions now I see her standing yonder

And her familiar voice I hear once more

The banquet table’s ready up in Heaven

It’s suppertime upon the golden strand

Repeat chorus then,

We’re going home at last