From Hovel To Mansion - song lyrics 
American Old-time song lyrics from www.traditionalmusic.co.uk 
FROM HOVEL TO MANSION. Copyright, 1895, by W. P. Chase. Words and Music by W. P. Chase. 
In a mis'rable hovel in lower New York Lived a poor little motherless boy; His father a drunkard, his clothes tattered rags, Indeed life to him was no joy; But even to those who're most wretched on earth, A measure of happiness comes, And this lad had a taste-it was while he was ill In his miserable home in the slums; A sweet little maid, who for charity's sake, Made trips once a week 'mongst the poor, While out on her mission of love and relief, Chanced to find her way up to his door. 
Chorus. "May I come In?" and her voice was like an angel's; Can't I do something to relieve you from your paint Poor little boy, I'm afraid you have a fever; I'll go bring my papa, we'll have you well again. 
Long years have flown by, that lad now is a man, And the head of a firm of great wealth; He had worked night and day-strove to merit the love Of that lass who had nursed him to health; No task seemed too hard, nor no effort too great; No obstacles seemed to appall, For the love which he cherished was ever in mind; She was life to him, happiness, all; At last they were married, his joy was complete As into his mansion he bore That sweet gentle woman who, when a young girl, Had called at his tenement door.-Chorus.