This text comes from A First Series of Hymns and Songs, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
'Twas on a chill December morn,
The hour when fairies play,
The half-burnt rush-light dimly hid
The pale moon's glimm'ring ray,
When, piercing through the silent gloom,
A voice was heard to say,
What, all asleep? does no one know
It is our washing day?
Oh, there's no peace within the house;
Ah me! ah, well away!
There's little comfort in the house
Upon a washing day.
Then hurry, hurry, down the stairs
The busy maidens run;
The shining suds fly all about,
The work it is begun.
And I am bid with frowning look
To get out of the way;
You little miss, what want you here
Upon our washing day?
Oh, there's no peace within the house;
Ah me! ah, well away!
There's little comfort in the house
Upon a washing day.
To see the house a while ago
There came three ladies gay,
With many a smile and gracious look.
And then—they went away.
Now what they said, or what they thought,
I'm sure I cannot say;
But I do not think they'll come again
Upon a washing day.
When 'tis thump—thump—splash—splash—
Scold—scold away,
Ah, little comfort's in the house
Upon a washing day.
Oh, cleanliness, sweet cleanliness,
So smiling bright and fair,
Oh, who would think that thou art gain'd
With so much toil and care?
Or who would say, that thou dost owe
Thy face so smooth and gay,
To soap and suds and scrubbing-brush
Upon a washing day?
Chorus. To the thump—thump—splash—splash—
Scold—scold away;
To all the mess and all the fuss
Upon a washing day. H. F.