Up in the North o’ fair Entrim,
A beauty-spot in oor Isle,
What Nature’s charms ir enchantin’
Beamin’ wae her sweetest smile,
Wae whom let us join the meander,
An’ linger aboot fur a while.

The place simply beggars description,
Sae fertile, tidy, an’ neat
Beautified by its fine woodlan’
Enriched by acres o’ peat,
Bit pittin’ al’ intae a nutshell,
It stan’s a toonlan’ complete.

Bit tae its residents loyal
I wud noo like tae refer,
Wha al’ ir brave sons o’ brave fethers,
Wha’s honor’d names they weel bear,
An dochters juist like their mothers,
Virtuous, noble, an’ fair.

Bit, freens, tae take up the by-past,
Wae thankfoo heart I can say
That my paternal ancestors
Lived thir fur monie a day,
As staunch as’ true Covenanters
Wha wint tae glory that way.

Ye see why the Craigs is sae sacred,
Ye know my dear kith an’ kin,
Chips o’ the auld blocks lang departed,
Wha fecht an’ march on ahin’
May we al’ endure tae the finish
An’ meet oor lov’d yins abin.

This thocht leads us tae the chuch noo,
Nigh hid by big giant yews,
That mak’ the place sae befittin’
A subject on which tae muse,
Reflections sae hallow’d an’ holy
Nae child o’ God cud abuse.

Tae think o’ the silent “God’s acre,”
Whar lo’d yins tak’ thir last sleep,
Fethers an’ mothers an’ children,
Whas memory sacred we keep,
Hopin’ that they ir al’ happy
Cheers us, although we aft weep.

The church at the Craigs is adapted
Fur worship an’ praise tae oor God,
An’ no set apart as a “comfie”,
What folk may sit doon an’ nod;
I think its no’ superseded
By ony on the “green sod.”

Respectfoo we mention the clergy,
Alas, some in thir lang hame,
Wha like the yins that noo follow
Guid preachers o’ Gospel fame,
Baith in an’ oot o’ the pulpit
Declare “thir’s nae ither name”.

May we all tak’ heid tae the message,
An’ luck tae this thing in time,
Becas it’s juist the neglectin’
That seems tae be the great crime,
Wae wishes best tae my readers
Conclude I this simple thyme.

Adam Lynn May 1911

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