Little Ada now has gone To that land above, Where no trouble ever comes, All is brightness, all is love.
On the summit of a mountain Stood I in the twilight gray, There were many standing with me In the closing light of day.
Two paths led out from the summit-- One to lands so clear and bright, And the other to a dark land Where reigned eternal night.
Many chose the road to darkness-- Pathway leading down to hell; Few there were that took the other-- They that chose it, chose it well.
’Twas a dream I dreamed in slumber, But ’tis real every day; Many take the downward path, Few that go the brighter way.
An old man entered a dram-shop, He staggerd and stumbled in; His face was as hard as granite, His hair was light and thin.
The bar-keeper’s daughter entered In a dress of purest white, And she looked as sweet as could be In her nice new clothes that night.
The old man stopped, and reasoned, For his own dear child he knew Was shoeless and cold and ragged And his wife was starving, too.
So the dime that lay in his pocket, Bought bread for his wife that night, And the old bar-keeper’s daughter Still dressed in her snowy white.
But soon ere the winter was over The drunkard was drunkard no more, And the wife and child were happy As they never had been before.
Oh, fresh from the woodland comes the breath-- The breath of the beautiful spring; And the gentle zephyrs that float about Scents from the meadow and forest bring. And in every tree A robin in glee Is chanting a joyous melody.
Oh the sweet calm breath of beautiful spring-- And the azure sky is bright above, And the warm sunshine makes the whole world glad For every beam is a message of love. And in every tree The robin in glee Is chanting a joyous melody.
The warm sun shines and the sweet flowers bloom, But ah, the wild winds will be raving amain, And the cold gray winter will ravish our joys-- The beauties of earth will be vanished again. From every tree The robin will flee And fly to the South with his melody.
But let us enjoy these transient delights And gaze on their beauty while linger they here. Let us thank our dear Father such grandeur may come While spring claims her place in every year; And in every tree A robin will be Chanting a beautiful melody.