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!