Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Teresa Brayton

My feet are on Broadway
blessed harvest morn,
But oh! the ache thats in my
For the where I was born.
My hands are blistered
Through in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a scythe more
Through a of Irish wheat.
Had I the to wander back,
Or own a abode.
Id sooner see the hawthorn
By the Old Bog Road.

When I was young and
My was ill at ease,
Through of America,
And the gold the seas.
Oh, rake 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 three thousand miles away
the Old Bog Road.

My died last springtime,
When Erins fields green.
The neighbours said her
Was the ever seen.
There were snowdrops and
Piled above her bed,
And Ferns Church was
When her Mass was read.
And here was I on
A-building 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
moonlight oer the sea.
Her name was Dwyer,
But was long ago.
The of God are wiser
Than the that man might know.
She the day I left her,
bricks per load,
Id best the days Ive spent
On the old Bog Road.

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