Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Brayton

My feet are here on
blessed 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 more
Through a of Irish wheat.
Had I the chance to back,
Or own a abode.
Id sooner see the tree
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 to find 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 mother last springtime,
When Erins were green.
The neighbours her waking
Was the finest seen.
There were snowdrops and
Piled above her bed,
And Church was crowded
her funeral Mass was read.
And was I on Broadway
bricks per load.
When they carried out her
the old Bog Road.

There was a decent girl at
Who used to walk me.
Her were soft and sorrowful
Like oer the sea.
Her was Mary Dwyer,
But that was ago.
The of God are wiser
Than the things that man know.
She the day I left her,
A-building 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 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 my pipe alone.
Each heart must bear its grief
Though bitter be the
So God be you, Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road.