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The Evergreens
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The Old Bog Road
My feet are here on Broadway
this blesses harvest morn
But Oh the ache that's in them
for the spot where I was born
My weary hands are blistered
from work in cold and heat
and Oh to swing a scythe today
through fiels of Irish wheat
Had I the chance the wander back
or own a king's abode
'tis soon I'd see the hawthorn tree
by the Old Bog Road.
When I was young and innocent
my mind was ill at ease
Through dreaming of America
and gold beyond the seas.
Och, sorra take their money
'tis hard to get that same
And what's the world to any man
when no one speaks his name?
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I've had my day and here I am
and bitter is my load
a long 3000 miles away
from the Old Bog Road
Och, Life's a weary puzzle
past finding out by man
I take the day for what it's worth
and do the best I can
Since no one cares a rush for me
what need a man to moan
I go my way and draw my pay
and smoke my pipe alone
Each human heart must know it's grief
Though little be it's load
So God be with old Ireland
and the Old Bog Road
God be with old Ireland
and the Old Bog Road
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