SATURDAY NIGHT.
1 Come, let us, ere we go to bed,
O'er the decaying embers chat,
Though little Mary hangs her head,
And strokes no more the purring cat.
2 And let us tell how prisoners pine
In silent dungeons dark and drear;
Whilst on each face the embers shine,
And all is calm and peaceful here.
3 The English cot is free from cares;
But, see, the brand is wasted quite;
Come, little Mary, say your prayers;
Kiss, mother, kiss! good night, good night!