Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Teresa Brayton

My feet are here on
This harvest morn,
But oh! the thats in my heart
For the where I was born.
My weary hands are
Through in cold and heat!
And oh! to a scythe once more
Through a field of wheat.
Had I the to wander 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 their money,
Tis to find the same,
And the world to any man
If no one his name.
Ive had my day and I am
bricks per load.
A long three thousand away
the Old Bog Road.

My died last springtime,
When fields were green.
The neighbours said her
Was the finest seen.
There were snowdrops and
Piled above her bed,
And Ferns Church was
When her funeral was read.
And here was I on
bricks per load.
When carried out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

There was a decent at home
Who used to with me.
Her eyes were and sorrowful
moonlight oer the sea.
Her name was Dwyer,
But that was ago.
The of God are wiser
Than the that man might know.
She the day I left her,
bricks per load,
Id best forget the Ive spent
On the old Bog Road.

Ah! a weary puzzle,
Past out by man,
Ill take the day for what its
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.
human heart must bear its grief
Though be the bode
So God be you, Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road.