Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Brayton

My are here on Broadway
This harvest morn,
But oh! the ache in my heart
For the spot I was born.
My weary hands are
work in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a scythe once
Through a field of wheat.
Had I the to wander back,
Or own a abode.
Id see the hawthorn tree
By the Old Bog Road.

When I was and restless
My was ill at ease,
dreaming 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
A-building per load.
A long three thousand away
the Old Bog Road.

My died last springtime,
When Erins were green.
The neighbours said her
Was the finest seen.
There snowdrops and primroses
Piled high her bed,
And Ferns Church was
When her funeral was read.
And was I on Broadway
A-building per load.
When they carried out her
the old Bog Road.

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

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