Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Teresa Brayton

My are here on Broadway
blessed harvest morn,
But oh! the ache thats in my
For the where I was born.
My weary are blistered
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 sooner see the tree
By the Old Bog Road.

I was young and restless
My was ill at ease,
dreaming of America,
And the gold the seas.
Oh, rake their money,
Tis hard to 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 mother last springtime,
Erins fields were green.
The neighbours said her
Was the finest seen.
There were snowdrops and
Piled above her bed,
And Ferns was crowded
When her funeral 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 eyes were soft and
moonlight oer the sea.
Her was Mary Dwyer,
But was long ago.
The of God are wiser
Than the things that man 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,
Past out by man,
Ill the day for what 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 human heart must bear its
Though bitter be the
So God be you, Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road.