The Old Bog Road: Teresa
My are here on Broadway This blessed morn, But oh! the ache in my heart For the spot I was born. My weary are blistered work in cold and heat! And oh! to swing a 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.
When I was young and My was ill at ease, Through of America, And the gold the seas. Oh, sorrow rake 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 three thousand miles away the Old Bog Road.
My died last springtime, When fields were green. The neighbours said her Was the ever seen. There were and primroses high above her bed, And Ferns Church was her funeral Mass was read. And here was I on A-building per load. When they out her coffin the old Bog Road.
There was a girl at home Who used to walk me. Her eyes were and sorrowful Like oer the sea. Her name was Dwyer, But was long ago. The of God are wiser Than the things man might know. She the day I left her, A-building per load, Id forget the days Ive spent 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 smoke my alone. Each human must bear its grief Though be the bode So God be you, Ireland, And the Old Bog Road.