Luyện nghe bài hát Old Bog Road

The Old Bog Road: Teresa

My feet are here on
This blessed morn,
But oh! the ache thats in my
For the spot I was born.
My weary are blistered
Through in cold and heat!
And oh! to swing a scythe 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 and restless
My was ill at ease,
dreaming of America,
And the beyond the seas.
Oh, sorrow rake money,
Tis hard to 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 long three thousand away
the Old Bog Road.

My mother last springtime,
When Erins were green.
The neighbours said her
Was the finest seen.
There were snowdrops and
Piled high 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 decent at home
Who to walk with me.
Her eyes soft and sorrowful
moonlight oer the sea.
Her was Mary Dwyer,
But that was ago.
The of God are wiser
Than the things that man know.
She died the day I her,
bricks per load,
Id forget 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 smoke my alone.
Each human heart must bear its
Though bitter be the
So God be you, Ireland,
And the Old Bog Road.