"Sunday Night" (1878)
by Frederick Woodman Root, 1846-1916

1.
The light is in the parlor,
A fire is in the grate;
The clock upon the mantle
Ticks out --"it's getting late" --
The curtains at the windows
Are made of snowy white,
The parlor is a pleasant place
To sit on Sunday night,
To sit on Sunday, Sunday night.

2.
Fine books are on the table,
And pictures on the wall;
And there's a cushioned sofa,
But then that is not all;
If I am not mistaken,
(I'm sure I must be right)
Some people now are sitting there
This pleasant Sunday night,
This pleasant Sunday, Sunday night.

3.
They sit so close together,
At first I can not see
How many may be in there,
I don't think there are three;
The clock upon the mantle
ticks on with all its might,
It will be Monday morning soon
Instead of Sunday night,
Instead of Sunday, Sunday night.

4.
The lamp is burning dimly,
The fire is getting low,
Somebody says to some one
"It's time for me to go."
We hear a little whisper,
So gentle and so light,
"O don't forget to come again
Another Sunday night,
Another Sunday, Sunday night."