I've just seen the first robin of spring, Emma,

And he's warbling a sweet little song,

Bringing back tender mem'ries of you, Emma,

And of joys that to childhood belong.

He was singing a song to his mate, Emma,

A sweet song of happiness and love,

And it echoed thro' woodland and dale, Emma,

Over valley and hilltop and grove.

Oh, those happy, happy days gone by, Emma,

Their memory is ever dear to me;

Oh, those old golden, glorious days, Emma,

Bringing back tender mem'ries of you, Emma,

When life seemed only a song,

Holding neither a sorrow nor tear, Emma,

As we played 'mong the flowers all day long.

We gathered the mosses and ferns, Emma,

The cowslips and violets so blue,

And the crab-apple blossoms so sweet, Emma,

And the sweet, mellow May-apple, too.

You remember the old apple-tree, Emma,

With its wide-spreading branches o'erhead?

Such perfume I have never since found, Emma,

As its sweet, fragrant blossoms did shed.

But now we are far, far apart, Emma,

The sunny days of childhood are o'er,

But we'll roam hand in hand 'mong the flowers, Emma,

That bloom on the Bright Golden Shore.