Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Teresa Brayton

My feet are on Broadway
This blessed morn,
But oh! the ache in my heart
For the spot I was born.
My weary are blistered
Through in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a scythe once
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 gold the seas.
Oh, sorrow rake money,
Tis to find 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 mother died springtime,
When Erins were green.
The neighbours her waking
Was the finest seen.
There were snowdrops and
Piled above her bed,
And Ferns was crowded
When her Mass was read.
And was I on Broadway
bricks per load.
When they out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

There was a girl at home
Who used to with me.
Her were soft and sorrowful
Like oer the sea.
Her was Mary Dwyer,
But was long ago.
The of God are wiser
Than the that man might know.
She died the day I her,
A-building per load,
Id best forget the days Ive
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 cares a for me
What is there to moan,
Ill go my way and my pay
And my pipe alone.
human heart must bear its grief
Though bitter be the
So God be you, Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road.