Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Teresa

My are here on Broadway
This harvest morn,
But oh! the ache thats in my
For the where I was born.
My weary hands are
work in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a once more
a field of Irish wheat.
Had I the chance to back,
Or own a abode.
Id sooner see the hawthorn
By the Old Bog Road.

When I was and restless
My was ill at ease,
Through of America,
And the beyond the seas.
Oh, sorrow their money,
Tis hard to the same,
And whats the to any man
If no one his name.
Ive had my day and I am
bricks per load.
A three thousand miles away
the Old Bog Road.

My died last springtime,
When Erins were green.
The neighbours her waking
Was the ever seen.
were snowdrops and primroses
Piled above her bed,
And Church was crowded
her funeral Mass was read.
And here was I on
A-building per load.
When they out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

There was a girl at home
Who used to walk me.
Her eyes were and sorrowful
moonlight oer the sea.
Her name was Dwyer,
But was long ago.
The ways of God are
Than the things man might know.
She died the day I her,
bricks per load,
Id best forget the days Ive
On the old Bog Road.

Ah! Lifes a puzzle,
Past out by man,
Ill take the day for what its
And do the I can.
Since no one cares a for me
What is there to moan,
Ill go my way and my pay
And my pipe alone.
Each heart must bear its grief
bitter be the bode
So God be you, Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road.