Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Brayton

My feet are here on
This harvest morn,
But oh! the thats in my heart
For the spot I was born.
My weary hands are
Through in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a once more
Through a of Irish wheat.
Had I the chance to back,
Or own a abode.
Id see the hawthorn tree
By the Old Bog Road.

When I was and restless
My was ill at ease,
dreaming of America,
And the gold the seas.
Oh, sorrow 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
bricks per load.
A long three thousand miles
the Old Bog Road.

My mother last springtime,
Erins fields were green.
The neighbours her waking
Was the finest seen.
There snowdrops and primroses
Piled high her bed,
And Ferns was crowded
her funeral Mass was read.
And was I on Broadway
A-building per load.
When carried out her coffin
the old Bog Road.

There was a decent at home
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
the things that man might 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 take the day for its worth
And do the I can.
no one cares a rush for me
What need is 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.