How often at night when I sit in my cell,
After working quite hard all the day,
My memory goes back to the time that I fell,
For the "bit" which I now have to stay.
And sometimes, I own, while sitting alone
I feel sad and disconsolate, too;
But it makes me feel gay when I think I can say,
"I've only got one and a few."
Oh, many's a home that's cheerless tonight,
And many's the mother feels drear;
When she thinks of the one far away from her sight
It causes her many a tear.
Though others may cleave to her, you are the same;
Misfortune but makes her more true;
She may now be quite sad, but won't she feel glad
When you've only got "one and a few?"
Then, don't be discouraged. No matter how long
In this prison you may have to stay,
You know that to worry and fret is quite wrong,
Far better drive dull care away.