Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Teresa

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

I was young and restless
My was ill at ease,
Through of America,
And the gold the seas.
Oh, rake their money,
Tis to find the same,
And the world to any man
If no one his name.
Ive had my day and I am
A-building per load.
A long three miles away
the Old Bog Road.

My died last springtime,
When fields were green.
The neighbours said her
Was the finest seen.
were snowdrops and primroses
Piled above her bed,
And Church was crowded
When her Mass was read.
And here was I on
bricks per load.
When carried out her coffin
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 was Mary Dwyer,
But that was ago.
The of God are wiser
Than the things man might know.
She the day I left her,
A-building per load,
Id best forget the Ive spent
On the old Bog Road.

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