This is the original text. I have boldfaced the words that are different from the above text. There are also numerous small differences in spelling (especially dialect), capitalization, and punctuation that I have corrected but not emphasized.

From Songs of the Dawn and Irish Ditties by Teresa Brayton (New York: P. J. Kenedy & Son, 1913), page 77:


THE OLD BOG ROAD.

My feet are here on Broadway this blessed harvest morn
But O, the ache that's in thim for the sod where I was born;
My weary hands are blisthered from toil in cold and heat
And 'tis O, to swing a scythe to-day through fields of Irish wheat.
Had I my choice to journey 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 dhraimin' of America and goold beyant the seas,
Och, sorra take their money but 'tis hard to get that same—
And what's the world to a man whin no one spakes his name!
I've had my day and here I am with buildin' bricks for load
A long three thousand miles away from the old bog road.

My mother died last springtide whin Ireland's fields were green,
The neighbors said her wakin' was the finest ever seen,
There were snowdrops and primroses piled up around her bed
And Ferns Church was crowded whin her funeral Mass was said.
And here was I on Broadway with buildin' bricks for load
Whin they carried out her coffin from the old bog road.

There was a dacint girl at home who used to walk with me,
Her eyes were soft and sorrowful like moonbames on the sea,
Her name was Mary Dwyer,—but that is long ago
And the ways of God are wiser than the things a man may know.
She died the year I left her, but with buildin' bricks for load
I'd best forget the times we met on the old bog road.

Och, life's a weary puzzle, past findin' 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 to make a moan,
I go my way and dhraw my pay, and smoke my pipe alone.
Each human heart must know its grief though bitther be the load,
So God be with old Ireland and the old bog road.