The sun was setting and vespers 



done, the monks came trooping 



out, one by one, 

 And down they went through the 



garden trim in cassock and cowl 



to the river's brim, 

 Every brother his rod he took, every 



rod had a line and hook, 

 Every hook had a bait so fine, and 



thus they sang in the even shine, 

 "Oh! to-morrow will be Friday, so 



we fish the stream to-day! 

 Oh! to-morrow will be Friday, so we 



fish the stream to-day!" 

 BENEDICT, To-morrow Will 

 Be Friday. 



